Page 33 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
I’m just glad the assassin is still dazed as fuck, because he’s like a puppet in my grip when I tie his arms and legs, then attach the ties to the footboard of the bed for good measure.
I slap his face several times. “Wakey wakey, fucker.” But then I look up at Blake as I grab one of the knives. “I need to find out who sent him. You… might want to wait in the living room for this.”
He’s pale, and his skin glistens with sweat, but despite glancing to the door, his feet remain firmly on the floor. I know he made up his mind when that green gaze hardens. “No. I need to know.”
He doesn’t specify what he wants to learn, but I don’t question it. The assassin must have come for him, and he deserves to find out why.
I’m about to slap my prisoner awake when gentle fingers trace my back.
“He cut you,” Blake utters. “Where’s your—”
“It can wait,” I tell him, because it’s only a superficial injury.
The assassin opens his bloodshot eyes, his head still lolling from side to side, and I grab his jaw so he looks at me.
“Fuck you,” is all he has for me to start with, so I punch him in the stomach, and that snaps him to attention.
“We’re not calling the cops until you tell us who sent you.” We’re not calling the cops either way, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet.
He frowns through the pain and spits some blood my way as he speaks. “Sent me? What the hell are you talking about?”
I punch him square in the face so hard the back of his head thuds against my footboard. I already detest the future clean-up, especially so late at night, and in my private, murder-free space at that!
I can sense Blake’s presence behind me, but he remains quiet, letting me work. I kinda like him watching me when I’m in my element.
I cock my head at the man in front of me, then grab his hand with mock-concern. He looks average. Brown hair, crooked nose, flat, forgettable face. The perfect features for an assassin. “Oh, so you came here with all these knives and a garotte out of your own volition. Just a random little murder spree?”
“What else would it be?” the bastard asks, but his words turn into a choked scream when I snap his finger and twist it out of the socket at the knuckle.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. It's very naughty to lie,” I tell him as his brown gaze zeroes in on me. He doesn’t knowme, but he knows my type, and he’s getting scared, because where he expected a regular civilian he found a worthy opponent.
“You ex-military, or something?” he asks, only to cry out as I snap the next finger.
“Answer me.”
“Pay me,” he says with a bloodstained grin, but he can’t sustain the fake tough guy act when I break the next finger.
“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in. I’m not bargaining with you. If you give me the answer promptly, I might let you live. That’s the only the deal you’re getting.”
“Fuck you, asshole! You’re just collateral damage anyway.”
I squint at him but extend my hand to Blake without even glancing his way. “Give me the knife, sweetie. The big one,” I specify because I took two more off this bastard when I restrained him.
Blake hands me the dagger without a word, and our prisoner glances at him over my shoulder, shaking from the pain. “What is it to you?”
“He’s my boyfriend, so if you came here to kill him, it is my fucking business! How did you know where he was?”
When he starts laughing, I’m done playing nice. I grab his nose and start sawing from the nostrils up. The chuckle dies on his lips and turns into a scream before I even get through half of it. Once I’m done, I throw the piece of flesh in his lap as he pants, bleeding all over the bottom of his face.
“You fucking psycho!” When he looks over my shoulder, straight at Blake, I consider taking his eyes next. He struggles to breathe, but his gaze is overflowing with wrath. “Yourboyfriendcalled his brother to get out of here, so I don’t think he loves you very much. Too bad his brother wants him dea—”
My stomach’s plummeting by the time Blake appears right next to me. He yells something I can’t decipher through the thudding in my ears, and then sinks another of the assassin’s knives in his neck. When he rips it out, along with a flood of blood, it’s over.
“Oh God… oh God…” Blake utters as the dagger drops from his hands. He covers his face, only to realize they’re stained with blood, and promptly pulls off his top to clean himself.
Which makes me wonder if his goal is to show off his lovely body to manipulate me further. My blood is so cold I can’t seem to move and allof a sudden the pain between my shoulder blades comes back in full force, like a physical manifestation of the ache in my heart.
I get up, feeling like fury personified. “You didwhat?” I roar at him and spread my arms.
