“Come on out, fucker. I know you’re out there.”
Come get me, Archie.
He hesitates on the doorstep, sensing the danger residing in the shadows.
But after a few moments, he develops a vagina and charges out the door and down the porch steps. His head turns, his eyes widening as he catches a glimpse of my face with a single red rose in my mouth, the stem caught between my teeth.
I bare my teeth, a feral grin that would chill even the devil. Before he can react, I dart out, grab his arm and twist him around. My hand slaps over his mouth as I pull his back to my front.
Twirling my knife, I stab him twice in the stomach. Both precise areas that won’t cut through vital organs. He grunts beneath my hand, the shock rendering him mostly silent.
Before the situation catches up to him and he starts shouting, I push him off of me and deliver one sharp punch to the back of the head.
Done in a matter of ten seconds, not a single peep out of his mouth.
My arm snaps out and I catch him by the back of his suit jacket before he can face-plant the cold, muddy ground. Out cold and bleeding profusely.
I need to staunch the wounds before he loses too much blood.
But first, I slide the rose from my mouth, and dip the petals in the crimson spilling from his wounds.
Can’t have my little mouse thinking there aren’t consequences for letting another man touch what’s mine. She’ll find out soon enough that I don’t make idle threats.
I rest his body against the porch for a second while I walk up and throw the rose at her doorstep. I’m too pissed to do much else.
And then I grab his body and start the brief trek through the woods where my Mustang awaits. By the time the cops get here, it’ll be too late.
A blood trail will lead them to tire tracks, and they might be able to narrow down the make and model based on the tread impressions, but the evidence will run cold after that. It will all be destroyed soon enough.
The cops won’t know which direction to look. And Archie’s family will assume their enemies caught up to him.
And they wouldn’t be wrong. They just won’t be able to guess who until I’m standing in front of them with a knife in their necks.
“Let me the fuck go, you fucking prick. You think I’m someone to mess with? Do you have any fucking idea who I am and who my family is?”
His mouth is going to be stapled shut in point two seconds if he keeps running it, that I do know. I relay this to him, and he answers with a hyena laugh.
I turn and clock the fucker in the mouth, all the while keeping my Mustang straight.
Colorful words follow, but they’re no brighter than the blood pouring out with them.
Pretty boy isn’t so pretty now.
He’s going to experience a lot worse once I get back to my place. He laid his mouth and hands on my girl, and there’s consequences for silly mistakes like that.
He woke up about five minutes into the drive. Two strips of fabric from his shirt are tied tightly across each stab wound on his abdomen. His hands and feet are hog-tied—there’s not a chance of him slipping free of those.
I’ve had too much practice.
He’s been running his mouth since the moment he awoke, and it’s been grinding my gears into dust. He throws out empty threats like bullets, but instead, they’re paper in the wind. None of them make an impact. In fact, they don’t land anywhere near me.
It’s the mention of Addie that sends me into a murderous rage.
“Come on, man. Are you this worked over a piece of ass? Her voice may be cut out for porn, and her pussy tight as fuck, but shit, you can find that in other bitches too. I’ve fucked plenty of them.”
What was going to be a fairly slow death is now going to be the slowest death to ever happen since the dawn of humanity.
It was bad enough that he spoke of my girl in such a disgusting manner, but then he went and topped it off by implying Addie isn’t anything special.
She’s the first of her kind to exist, and there will never be another like her.
I pull into the driveway leading into my warehouse. It’s a smaller structure, used to manufacture cameras for some shitty company that went out of business within five years.
The building was foreclosed on, and I bought it for dirt cheap. And then spent hundreds of thousands of dollars transforming it into an impenetrable fortress.
I converted the main floor into my living space with state-of-the-art security. An ant will not be able to find its way into the building without me knowing about it.
The second floor is my workspace. Dozens of computers and illegal technology that make it possible to do what I do fill the space. And the basement is where I handle all of my business—meaning where I take the pedophiles to torture and kill them when they have information I need.
I built an underground garage that drives straight into the basement. Makes for an easier haul when I got a six-foot-two dickhead to carry to the table.
I’m a big man, but I’m just as capable of throwing out my back as the next person. I’m still a human fucking being.
Shutting the garage door behind me, I turn the car off and twist around.
I sigh at the sight. Usually, I’m more prepared when I kidnap people. They go in the trunk, and I don’t have to worry about getting my car dirty. But by the time I carried him back to my car, I was in a hurry and just threw him back there.
He’s already got blood everywhere, and I’m going to have to pay my cleaning crew extra to get those stains out. With that amount of blood, anyone would ask questions.
But they get paid way too much to ask stupid questions that’ll get them killed.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I can knock your ass out, or you can be a good little bitch and stay still.”
His bloody mouth forms around the word fuck, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what word is going to come out next. I punch him in the nose before he can get the first syllable out.
The crunch of bone beneath my fist is nearly orgasmic. By the time I’m pulling my fist away, blood is squirting from his broken nose. He spits, and a tooth flies out of his mouth and onto my floor.
I’m going to shove my foot up his ass just for that.
I get out, round the car, and swing open the door.
He starts protesting, but the words become garbled when I grab him by the collar and drag his ass out. With his limbs tied up, he feels every drop and bump as I drag his body out of the car and haul him towards the table.
He squirms like a worm on a hook, and I can tell by the panicked look on his face that he has that feeling. The sinking feeling that his life is balancing on the edge, and I’m about to fucking Sparta kick him off.
Despite his struggles, I wrangle him on the surgical table, and systematically untie specific ropes so I can strap him to the table while simultaneously keeping him immobile.
He looks over and sees a dead Fernando lying on the other table.
After I saw Sicily off, Michael dropped Fernando off at my place while I went to Parsons Manor to snoop around. Addie and her friend were leaving, so I followed them to a club.
It took all my willpower not to put a bullet in every man’s head that grinded their dick against her ass. I decided to go home and take care of business before I did something stupid and actually kidnap her.
While I interrogated Fernando, I set up a monitor and kept an eye on Addie through the club’s cameras. I'll admit, my torture methods became a lot bloodier once I saw Archie lead her up the stairs.