Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I watch tears trickle down his face, and I can’t help but to jerk his head up and smash it onto the floor. “Don’t fucking cry, you worthless shit. It’s your fault.” I slam his head into the floor again and he whimpers. “You’re a murderer, Euan,” I hiss.
I pull the gun from my pants, and push the barrel against his temple. My hand shakes from anger. “I should blow your fucking brains all over the place just for that. For crying like a little bitch about something you did.”
He’s still crying.
“Get up!” I twist the tip of the gun against his head as I stand, leaning over to drag him to his feet. “Get”—I yank him once more—“up!”
I move the gun to the back of his skull and watch the end of it disappear in his hair. I shove him toward the kitchen. “Face the corner.” Using the gun, I push him against the wall. “Put both your hands behind your back, cross them over one another.”
He doesn’t move.
“Do it now!” The command echoes from the cabinets.
His arms come behind him, noticeably trembling as he crosses them as instructed. He’s not even fighting me. He’s this pathetic that he won’t even fight for his life.
I place my face close to the back of his neck and growl, “You move, and I swear to God, I will make you suffer.” I exhale and wet my lips with my tongue. “I want to know every last person that works with your uncle.”
“Uh, um, I...I don’t know them.”
“Okay,” I nod and grab onto his scrawny bicep, burying my fingers into his flesh. “You sure about that?”
“I don’t,” he whines. The fear must really be setting in now.
Holding onto his arm, I slam my entire body weight into him, pushing against his shoulder until I hear a crack. Euan screeches as his shoulder pops from its socket.
I glance around the kitchen, my eyes honing in on the large chef knife. I snatch it from the counter, wielding it in the air. “Maybe I should do to you what they did to her?”
He won’t open his eyes. He’s just repeating please over and over again, still crying like a pathetic little bitch. “You want me to show you what they did to that pretty little girlfriend of yours?” I take the knife and lay it over his t-shirt, pressing it through the material until I see bright red stain the fabric. I slowly carve ‘P’ into his chest. He’s screaming, shrieking, trying to jerk away from me. “Shut up!”
Next I cut a ‘U’.
Between yells he shouts, “Dan—Daniel.”
“Not good enough,” I say, and focus on the letters I’m slicing over his chest. Blood stains his shirt, dripping from the tattered pieces. I watch some of it splatter onto the toe of my boot before I finish carving the ‘Y.’ I lean in and point the knife under his chin. “That’s what you are, a pussy,” I whisper into his ear.
“Daniel. Daniel Capes,” he shouts.
“Oh, so you do know?”
“Yes. Daniel's his hit man. And then there’s Fisher, I don’t know his first name, but he’s a cop, and the only other one I know of is Simon DeLucas.”
“So,” I say as I lock my eyes with his and feel a coldness creep through me, “why did you give Tor up?”
His brow scrunches. He doesn’t know who Tor is.
“Victoria, you dumb-fuck. Why would you do that?”
His face crumples and he shakes his head. “Joe said he’d kill her if I didn’t.”
Hanging my head, I mutter, “She was dead no matter what you did.” I look up at him. “You didn’t even try to save her.”
“Did she suffer?” he asks. I have to shut my eyes at that question.
“What the fuck do you think?” I ask as I wipe the bloody knife over my jeans.
His eyes slam shut and tears pour down his face. “I loved her.”
That comment enrages me. He loved her yet he gave her up, he bowed to the wishes of his uncle?
I grit my teeth. “How hard did you beg for her?”
He opens his eyes, regret swimming in them as he stares at me. He didn’t beg for her. He didn’t fight for her. He is a coward. A selfish pussy.
I shake him. “How hard did you beg for her?” I scream at him. I’m frantic. My pulse is hammering through my temples, my forehead is dotted with sweat. I feel damn near insane.
His gaze drops to the floor, and my hold on him tightens. “Let’s see how hard you beg for your life, and you tell me if you begged for hers like that, you little shit!”
“Please,” he pleads pathetically.
I smile, chuckling as I grab his hand. Taking a single finger, I snap it backward, my grin deepening when the bone cracks and he screams in agony. I take the next finger and slowly bend it, waiting for the bone to splinter. “Please!” he yells.