I do not believe in the immorality of the individual, and I consider ethics to be an exclusively human concern without any superhuman authority behind it.
—Albert Einstein
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”
The song flows through the underground cellar, and I walk toward the side as Lawrence slowly rouses from his unconscious state. I watch with rapt fascination from the shadows as a myriad of emotions flicker across his face in sequence.
Confusion. Surprise. Recognition. And my favorite—panic.
He struggles against the chains that are holding his hands and arms out wide, keeping him bound and suspended midair. It’s a lovely position to die in. It also leaves you feeling weak and defenseless to be spread out and immobile.
I should know.
The song changes, and “Ring Around the Rosy” starts playing in that creepy kid voice it’s in. I love fucking with their heads.
“Who the fuck are you!?” he shouts, struggling as I remain tucked in the dark corner. The light overhead casts a circular glow beneath it, illuminating him and the chains dangling loosely in front of him as I await our second prisoner’s arrival.
As soon as I got him to my car, I slammed his head into the side door twice, making sure he was out cold before tossing his heavy ass into my car. He’s solid muscle, and I didn’t plan on him being quite so heavy as dead weight.
The struggle was worth it.
The bruises are forming nicely around his eyes and forehead. I’m sure the concussion kept him out longer than a usual cold-cock.
“Where are you? Where the fuck am I?” he barks, struggling in vain, making the chains rattle their unrelenting warning.
He jerks his head from side to side, trying to see something other than the light above him. It’s just four stone walls in a semi-large square of a cellar. It’s every creepy nightmare there is.
I should have started finding creepier places to kill them long ago, because I love the way his body is seizing in terror just from the surroundings.
I’m dressed in all black now. The red lipstick is gone, along with the blonde wig I was donning. The heels have been traded in for boots—the men’s boots I wear with the special toe-piece Jake designed for me to leave behind heel-to-toe impressions.
My backpack isn’t on, but it’s not necessary for this part, since there’s no dirt around. The stone floor under my feet will soon be painted with two shades of red. Then I’ll paint all four walls.
“Someone fucking answer me! Help!” he roars, only to be met with silence. Tyler’s old home is in the middle of nowhere. These are the easy kills. Lawrence would have been difficult to kill in his apartment that he shares with a roommate.
Tyler’s wife is out of town right now, after having a fight over the text messages I helped her stumble upon—anonymously of course. Tyler thinks Denise got jealous and sabotaged him. His wife thinks he’s a dick weasel—her words—and left in a fit of rage.
I’m currently tracking her cell phone with the clone phone I had made of Tyler’s.
Lawrence continues to scream and shout as “The Wheels on the Bus” plays now, drowning out most of his pleads.
His voice is almost hoarse a few hours later when he finally pisses on himself, losing his bladder. It’s step one of humiliation. It’s step one of stripping their dignity. They always piss and shit themselves.
A smile curves my lips.
He curses as the first tear falls from his eye. He’s trussed up and strung out, unable to wipe it away. I want all his tears. I want all his misery and terror.
I want him degraded to the point he has nothing but indignation and humiliation left. Then I want his screams.
Just an hour after that, he breaks, sobbing fiercely as he loses control of his bladder again. His jeans darken, and the smell wafts over me. It’s the smell of revenge. Well, it’s the smell of piss, but you get the idea.
He’s shirtless, and I can see the goosebumps that have pebbled on his skin from the cold. The colder the room, the worse the pain is when the strikes are received.
“The bitch is crying,” Morgan says, laughing under his breath as one solitary tear rolls down my cheek.
I’m restrained, unable to wipe it away, as I try to retreat into my mind and block out all the pain.
“Those tears won’t save you, whore,” Lawrence says close to my ear. “Beg me to stop.”
“Please…please stop,” I hear my brother crying.
“We have one begging!” I hear Tyler announce, laughing like a hyena.
My arms wiggle free from Tyler’s loosened grip, and I scream out as I slam my fist into the side of Lawrence’s face.
“You fucking cunt!”
He continues to straddle me as he shoves my hands back down into place.
“Hold this fucking bitch down, or I’ll let her claw your eyes out when it’s your turn!”
Tyler spits out a curse, and slams my hands back into the pavement. I cry out as my hands find the unforgiving surface, and feel the blood trickling. I focus on it and not on what Lawrence is doing to the rest of me.
“Those tears won’t save you, whore,” I say, causing Lawrence to jerk his head over to my corner as he squints into the darkness, trying to find me.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I take three steps, slowly letting the light filter across me until his brow pinches in confusion. Fury sweeps across his face, but the chains hold him steady.
“What the fucking hell do you want, bitch?”
“Beg me to stop.”
He starts to speak, but the door above us opens, and Tyler comes rolling down the stairs, crying out in agony as Jake takes the steps one at a time. Jake moves with grace, enjoying the fact revenge is finally finding these sons of bitches after the conversation we witnessed.
Tyler already looks half beaten to death. Did I forget to mention that Jake has been taking all the same classes I have? Our mixed martial arts list only grows, as does our black belt count.
Obviously we took the classes in another town with another name, but that part isn’t important right now.
“You!” Lawrence shouts, glaring at Jake.
Jake taps his legs. “They work just fine, by the way.”
Tyler is a tangle of limbs, still lying on the ground. “Did you leave anything for me?” I ask Jake as he grabs Tyler’s wrist, dragging him to the chains.
“Who the fuck are you?” Lawrence demands again, as though he has any control.
“There’s plenty left. It’ll just hurt worse when you extract the debt.”
Smirking as Lawrence continues to berate us from his vulnerable position, I help Jake lock Tyler into place. We spread him out like Lawrence, suspending him with the chains. They’re right across from each other now.
“You want to know who I am?” I ask Lawrence as Tyler shakes with fear, his eyes wide and his body trembling.
Tears are feverishly pouring from Tyler’s eyes, causing me to give a quick appraisal to the state of his body.
His legs are definitely broken. Jake must have gotten out a lot of aggression. Good for him. He needed it.
“You’re a crazy bitch!” Lawrence shouts.
I grin, facing him now.
“No. I’m a pissed off crazy bitch. You knew me when I was younger. You knew my brother too.”
A smirk graces my lips as the color starts draining from his eyes. “Those tears won’t save you, whore,” I repeat, though this time I can see him realizing why I’m saying those words. “Beg me to stop.”
He turns as white as the ghost he thinks I am, and I face Tyler again as he tries to piece it all together.
“Play nice, Victoria. It’ll hurt a lot less if you just play nice.”
Don’t cry, Victoria. Don’t let them see they’ve broken you.
But I do break. I break hard. I break to the sounds of my brother’s screams from behind me as he begs and begs and begs… And they just laugh.
As though the sounds are music to their ears.
I want those ears to bleed.
“Play nice, Tyler. It’ll hurt a lot less if you just play nice,” I taunt, watching as the same wave of realization washes over him.
His eyes widen to the point of being painful, and Jake grins as he takes it all in. He always has to miss this part. I may have a new kind of partner if he can stomach the rest. I’d like for him to be a part of it. It’s just as much his revenge as it is mine. We both loved Marcus.
And they took him away.
I move in front of Lawrence, and Jake hands me my favorite knife. It’s dull. It’s brutal. And it hurts like hell when I finally get the skin to tear apart.
“You’re dead,” the prick wheezes, watching me in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
I stare up at him, moving the blade over his thigh, feeling his tremble.
“You should have killed me deader,” I say just as the blade digs into the yielding flesh.
He cries out in pain when the flesh finally splits, and I take my time. “I’ll need a sharp one for his ears,” I tell Jake as Tyler vomits to the sounds of Lawrence’s screams.
Then I continue, shifting to Tyler, letting them watch each other slowly be killed.
“Hope you boys aren’t sleepy. I changed my mind about your debt days. It’s going to be a long week.”
