Page 29 of Satan's Naughty List
Another dude that I hadn’t been able to really make out before steps forward, grasping my throat tightly.
“You will do right to remember who the fuck you are,” he barks, his face close as possible to mine. From the gay slur, I’m half tempted to lean forward and kiss him. Just to give him a taste of his own medicine. Thankfully, I know the consequences of most of my actions and decide against that plan.
“You’ll do right to remember not to fucking project your fantasies on me. Just because I take it up the ass doesn’t mean I can’t fucking give it.” Spoke too soon.
Rearing back, skinny dude slams his fist into my jaw. The bone screams in pain, the overwhelming urge to vomit hits like a train, but I refuse. More blood surfaces, forcing me to either choke it down or spit it out.
I decided on the former.
“I say we do a dump drop,” third guy mutters, backing up to stand next to beard. Beard hasn’t done much of anything since they came back in. He just stands there with his arms crossed, looking over me as I sit in the chair slumped over.
“I mean, heistheir head tech guy. Without him, they’re fucked,” skinny snickers with an odd look in his eye. Going out on a limb, I’d say that he’s probably not mentally stable.
They continue talking about options for my doom. Beard doesn’t chime in with their negotiations. He just looks at me with his eyes narrowed, as if he’s trying to assess and read through something. I do a failed attempt at a smolder, one that doesn’t even seem to spark a light of humor in his eyes.
Truly the enemy. Sad.
Finally, after having him analyze me for what felt like hours, he speaks up. “That’s enough. Discuss that elsewhere.”
Dumb and dumber grumble as they show themselves out. Beard stays. He turns on his heel, grabbing the spare chair and positioning it across from me. Looking at him, he’s definitely not small. I’d compare him to Nomad easily, maybe even Crusher who has a few inches on Nomad.
“What do you want?” He asks, crossing one knee over the other and folding his arms across his chest.
I look around, unsure what’s happening. “Come again?”
“You have three options. One, how much it would cost to buy your silence and disappear into thin air. Two, put a bullet in your head. You choose.”
I’m going to have to scrape my jaw off the floor. “I’m sorry. What?” I ask, squinting at him to try and hear better.
With a dramatic huff and an eye roll, he unfolds himself and places his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
“You have a tracker built somewhere in your body, I know that. I’m not stupid,” he starts, racking his eyes over my form. An involuntary shiver shoots down my spine, not one of the good kinds either. “I’d rather not waste talent. You work for me, pay money for you to disappear. Or, you die.”
“How long do I have to decide?” I ask, swallowing the too-large lump in my throat. He takes a glance down at his watch before smirking.
“Let me bring you a little bit of motivation, hmm?” I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. His shoulders roll back as he stands, making his way toward the door. It slams open, the hinges screaming as he reaches out. A rough looking Aspen stumbles behind him. Her clothes are in tatters, her hair matted on her head and crisp with blood. Her face is red, neck bruised purple.
“Let her go,” I growl, tugging at the restraints.
“Finally, a reaction,” he smirks. Placing a hand on her back, he shoves her forward roughly. She stumbles as she loses balance, her arms stuck behind her as she falls. The metal contraption on her leg twists painfully. Her chin slams into the dirty concrete floor, and it hits so damn hard I can hear her teeth chomp together.
Wincing, I watch blood pour from her mouth. With watering eyes, she stands slowly. Shoulders rolled back, I witness her gaze turn steely even as thick red liquid gushes from different spots on her face.
Her tongue drags along her bottom lip, scooping some of it back into her mouth before she turns and spits the mix at the beard dude. Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch. Instead he drags his finger through the mixture and brings it to his lips. He doesn’t release eye contact as he sucks it down, licking it like it’s the best damn honey.
“You’re almost as sweet as I remember,” he mutters. Stepping closer to her, she locks up tightly and smashes her eyes closed. The middle of his chest meets the top of her head, but he bends down to be level with her. “Our girl here has been naughty, did you know?”
His tongue darts out, swirling on her throat and licking up the bloody mess. My brows furrow, confusion racing in my brain.
Who is he?
“Awe, did my blood bunny not share who she is?” He laughs against her skin, biting down harshly enough for her to jump and scrunch her face in pain.
“Let me go,” I growl again, working my fingers on the tie. He laughs again, his beard soaking most of the pouring blood.
My fingers work diligently on the ties, loosening the knot more and more. It’s hard not being able to actually see it, but I have to make due.
I can feel the rope give way, and I ball it in my fist. I can’t give myself away just yet, so I keep up the illusion that I’m trapped. I need to wait for the right time, a perfect moment for me to pounce. The shittiest part is that I don’t know these guys. Being trained versus using that skill in real world situations are very different.
