Page 40 of Signed in Blood
His gaze grows wide as he understands what I’m saying.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he begs.
I cock my head. “Now it’s my turn to show you the consequences of your actions. What it means to take a life that doesn’t belong to you.”
As he sits on his ass, his legs bent, the perfect space is available. I kick him as hard as I fucking can, right in the balls.
His face turns red as he heaves in a breath and holds himself there before rolling onto his side and practically convulsing.
“I want to hear you beg for your life…”
He gives in far too easily. “Please… Please… It wasn’t my idea.”
“You think that matters to me?” A sick smile plays at my lips and yet, my heart hurts. It wasn’t his idea so I should just what? Let him get away with raping and murdering me? Sacrificing me to the fucking devil all for what? For fucking what?!
Fire burns in my hand but I silence it.
He is destined for something far fucking greater.
“I’ll… I’ll…give you some of the money.”
I spit back, “I’m dead, you dumbass.”
“Please… I just… It wasn’t my idea!” he cries out a bit too loud.
“Well, I love to break this to you, but I don’t give a flying fuck.” With that, I kick him in the balls again.
Grabbing the same knife I killed Jake with from my back pocket, I bring it up to his throat, asking, “Where is Murphy?”
“I don’t know…” Warren replies with sad eyes.
“Are you scared?” I taunt.
“Yes…”
“Good.”
“Now, I’ll ask one more time.” Slightly slicing a piece of his throat, I repeat, “Where is Murphy?”
“Ted’s! He’s going to Ted’s tomorrow night. We’re going to meet at Ted’s tomorrow!”
“Where’s Ted’s?”
“On Fifth and Park—”
I slit his throat and his blood gushes to my hands, it’s bright and warm and I want to bathe in it. But before he can die, I heal the fucking wound.
His hands still clench his blood-covered throat. He spits up blood, choking on it for a moment. But he breathes. He lives.
On all fours, he looks up at me with terror and I hold up the knife.
He tries to run but gets maybe three stumbled steps before I stab between his legs. Recklessly cutting and slicing so I can rip his fucking dick off.
His cries are silenced by a wave of my hand and the crows flutter to my right. Their shadows cast down on him in a flickering of light.
With his bloodied limb in the palm of my hand, he lays on the floor, screaming in silence, his lips glued together, and holding between his legs as he writhes in agony.
Tears stream down his face.
