Page 113 of Five
“I’m not going to tell you fuck. I already said everything to your sadistic masked friend. Plus, I’m dead anyway.” He spits on Bez’s t-shirt.
“Don’t like talking,” Bez replies before yanking hard on the arrow in his shoulder, pulling on it with a slow move until it is fully out. The scream that leaves the donor reaches the devil’s throne. It intensifies when Bez punches the wound once, twice, three times until we hear a crack. Then he pushes two fingers inside the bleeding wound and pulls on the broken bone, tearing flesh to take it out.
Uri and Raph have deadpan expressions on their faces, but when I glance at Michael, he looks enraptured. He has a thing about blood.
Me? I’m equal parts grossed out and turned on by his ruthless, vicious methods.
Bailey starts begging, but when it doesn’t work, he confesses everything. How Phoenix contacted him over the internet. How he was promised a huge slice of the pie when the drug hit the streets. He tested the first three types on people at his sex club, blackmailing his rich clients at the same time—like he tried with Gabe. He never met Phoenix, they only exchanged texts, but he has dates, places, and times of the next three shipments, and the names of the dealers who are supposed to sell it.
Fifteen minutes later Bailey is sweating profusely, head lolling on the side, whimpering. Bez’s chest is heaving, eyes staring at his gruesome masterpiece with satisfaction. He suddenly lifts his boot and stomps on the maggot’s foot. I hear crunching noises mixed with wailing as he grinds his heel.
“I told you everything I know, I swear,” Bailey cries.
“Don’t care.” Bez goes to his wrist next. He unties it and then proceeds to fold it, pushing the fingers until they touch his forearm. More blood, cracking noises, more white bones on display. He keeps going until all the maggot’s bones in his four limbs are broken and my stomach feels upside down. This will go into my torture record book.
“You should be thankful you didn’t touch what’s mine,” Bez tells Bailey, taking three steps back as he cleans his hands on his t-shirt.
“Have fun, Little Wasp.” He smirks at me, and then his lips turn down. Gabe is back. He looks down at his bloody clothes and sighs.
I go to him and brush away some red drops from his chin. “I’ll give you a shower later.” I smile at him, showing him I’m still utterly consumed by him. And he nods.
“Big fan of your better side,” Uri tells Gabe.
“He’s hotheaded, but he can crack a bone.” Raph always sounds uninterested.
“Now it’s my turn,” I announce as I move toward the chains hanging from the ceiling. I choose the bat, of course. “Michael, let me hear about a disturbing method of torture.” It’s a hobby of his. I like it.
“How about immurement? It’s a form of execution in which a person is sealed within an enclosed space without any exits. In this form of execution, the victim generally dies of dehydration and starvation, and then is slowly eaten by insects.”
Okay.
“Sounds boring. Bodies are made of goo and juice, just take the goo out. The end,” Uri replies.
“I want to try that,” Raph says.
Michael keeps talking, but I tune him out.
The bat I’m holding is not as good as mine, but it will do. I roll it like a pro before a baseball game and move toward Bailey first. He’s not moving and bleeding from too many wounds, but I still hit his face with the bat. Twice. I owe him that. I can seehis cheek ripple under the force and weight of the wood and his temple crack.
“Is he still alive?” I ask Uri. He shakes his head. A wave of justice and satisfaction washes over me, but I don’t have time to enjoy it fully yet. The Skid Mark brothers are waiting.
They woke up at Bailey’s third scream and look scared shitless. Their shocked expressions turned into threats and then begging. Now they’re both trembling silently, especially as I make my way to the older one. He slides his beady eyes from my high boots to my tight legging and white tank top. Even a few minutes before dying, he’s still a slimy, disgusting prick.
“Help me,” he pleads.
“After you paid someone to kidnap me? I’m here to kick your ass.” I swing the bat, nailing him right on the hand that touched me. He screams bloody murder, and I smirk.
“You won’t get away with it,” the younger brother yells, shivering like a leaf in the wind. He’s glaring at me and Gabe. “I knew there was something fucked up about you!”
“The only thing fucked up here is the way you like to force yourself on minors,” Uri says, as Gabe’s first knife flies through the air and pierces the maggot’s ear. The second hits his pinky. Third and fourth, his testicles.Such precision.His cries resound inside the room, followed by his brother’s cussing.
“My boyfriend is… What is a person obsessed with knives called?”
“Aichmomaniac,” Michael comes to my aid.
“Need to know how to spell that. But to be more specific, he likes to use people as a target and to cut them in pieces.”
A squeaking noise comes out the younger maggot’s throat. Blood rolls down his legs.
