Page 72 of Reclaimed

I step closer, ramming the blade into the bloody stub where his dick used to be.

He screams so loud it rattles the walls.

“Just one flick of the wrist, and you’ll be all done,” I sing-song.

He gasps for air, bulging eyes drifting towards my stomach. The cropped black shirt I’m wearing leaves my scars visible, the warped letter R on full display, and I hope he notices. I hope he sees how I’ve been reclaimed by someone who actually earned the right to leave his mark.

I twist the knife deeper until the serrations beneath the hilt catch his skin, Harris’ eyes rolling back.

“Nice and slow now, please,” I tell Talon.

“Never heard you say that before,” he remarks.

I roll my eyes as he follows my instructions, slowly lowering Harris’ body as I hold the blade steady, a blood-curdling scream ripping from wherever Harris’ soul should have been.

His skin parts around my knife as it slices upward, blood spilling onto the floor and splashing my feet. I keep holding firm, looking Harris in the eyes as the knife splits through his meaty belly, the first surge of organs spilling outward. Intestines and what I think is his kidney follow as Talon continues to lower him over my blade, but it suddenly stops when I hit bone.

Dammit.

“Sternum?” Talon asks, the veins in his forearms pulsing as he holds the chain steady.

“I think so,” I sigh.

“Step back,” he instructs.

I do, pulling the knife free with a squelch.

Talon drops the chain, Harris hitting the floor with a wet thud as his convulsing body lands atop the pile of his innards.

“C’mere, little stray,” Talon beckons with a lift of his chin, boots squelching through the mess as he moves to stand over Harris’ mangled form.

I move towards him, his hands circling my hips as he lifts me up and positions me over Harris. Then he presses against my back, his erection nudging my ass as his arms wrap around me, hands covering mine.

“Bend your knees,” he instructs, his body folding with mine. “Ready?”

“Not as ready as you are,” I tease, wiggling my butt against him.

He growls, warm breath skating over my skin. “Keep that up and your ass will look like Harris when I’m done,” he warns.

The savagery of his threat makes my belly flip.

“Jersey,” Talon barks. “Finish your assignment.”

I twist my head around to look back at him, grinning wickedly. “I like when you say my name.”

“And I like when you scream mine, baby. But finish this asshole first.”

I cluck my tongue, rolling my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Meticulous.”

With Talon’s weight against my back and our feet anchoring Harris to the ground, he guides my hands on the knife until it gnaws into bone, then out and into the hollow of Harris’ throat, slicing down until we meet the other side. Once it’s done, Talon releases his hold and straightens, running a bloodied hand through his hair, tinging the blond strands red.

“Now careful, but give a little jump right there in the center and it should crack like a glow stick.”

I do, the bone snapping so violently that my foot slips in the mess and I pitch backwards, the knife clattering to the ground as Talon catches me.

His chest heaves against my back as he holds me there, the two of us gazing down at the heaping pile of another Northbrooke elite meeting an end that’s far too kind for what he’s inflicted on others over the years. Still, it’s one less heinous asshole on the streets, so really, we’re the blood-soaked heroes in this story.

Harris will never hurt another Asset again.