Chapter 6 #2
Jackson drops one side of the cord just before pulling his arm back quickly and slashing it through the air.
The sound it makes when it connects with her face is pure music to my ears along with the scream that she releases.
A symphony of sorts. Christina grabs her cheek as she stumbles to the side, running into the file cabinet.
“Say one more fucking thing about her and I will make your death last even longer than it already will be.”
She looks up at him through her fingers, and the blood begins to seep through slowly.
My eyes widen, and my lips curl in a full smile, showing all my teeth at seeing this bitch’s blood.
Before she can even register the movement, he does it again, but this time she falls to the ground with her hand bleeding now as well.
Jackson reaches out, grabbing her by her hair and pulling her up from the floor before slamming her over her desk face down.
Papers, folders, and a cup of pens fly off.
Leaning down close to her ear, he growls, “Any last words, before I teach you the lesson of a fucking lifetime. That lesson…don’t fuck with people who can and will enjoy killing you. ”
“P-pl…please, Jackson. You don’t want to do this,” she whimpers out, making both he and I laugh loudly. “Please…you will regret it. They will lock you up in solitary indefinitely.”
“The only thing I will regret…is not being able to take my time with your death,” he says, standing up looking at me. I nod at him, knowing exactly what he’s trying to tell me.
Walking over, I pull her arms around to her back and wrap the cord around them, then through her wrists, making sure that while we do what we need to do, she can’t pull them loose.
While I’m trying to tighten the hold, Christina wiggles around trying to get loose.
Jackson lifts her head from the desk and, in three quick successions, bangs it hard against her desk.
She immediately sags where she’s at, completely unconscious.
“What the fuck, Jackson,” I say with a light chuckle, when I notice he knocked her out. I finish tying her wrists.
He picks her up by her hair, flips her around, and tosses her on the desk.
Her legs are dangling over one side and her head the other.
Taking the thick black cord in his hand, he walks around, switching places to stand near her head.
He drapes the cord doubled over, wraps it around her neck and slides the split end through the connected side.
He leaves it there just hanging around her neck before he moves over to the corner where there is a dual door cabinet, and opens both doors.
“Score!” he declares, as he grabs a bottle of Skyy Vodka and two tumblers, walking back to me.
“What the fuck are you doing? We can’t get drunk right now. We have to be focused and fucking sober if we want to get this done properly,” I tell him while he pours two fingers of the liquor into each glass, handing one to me.
“Just one shot, Kata. Come on,” he says, giving me his charming smile.
Swiping the glass out of his hand, the liquor sloshes in the cup. “Fine. Just one.” Because why not? One shot won’t get me drunk, and it’s been way too long since I had the pleasure of feeling the burn from any sort of alcohol glide down my throat.
He holds his glass out and I clink mine with his, just before throwing the shot back at the same time.
The liquor burns going down, but I immediately feel calmer.
The bitch spread out on the table, shifts groaning as she starts to wake up.
Blood is covering her face from where he slashed her with the cord and then slammed her head into the table.
Sitting the tumbler next to me at the end of the desk, Jackson lifts the bottle of liquor up once again. “Hold the bitch still,” he says.
I walk around and grab both sides of her head by her hair. Smirking down at her, he tilts the bottle over her nose and mouth and begins pouring it…slowly. She tries to sit up to get away from the liquid, but with me holding her the way I am, all she can do is try to turn her face this way and that.
Jackson tracks her every movement, pouring with agonizing slowness, watching as she gags, chokes, and sputters. My gaze fixes on him—on the way he watches her. His face is calm, almost serene, his focus meticulous. The intensity of his concentration is…mesmerizing.
Once the bottle is empty, Christina begins to cough, but since I’m still holding her, she can’t seem to catch her breath. “Pl-please stop. Pl-please,” she mutters through coughing. “I won’t…tell…anyone. I-I…pr-promise.”
“Of course you won’t tell anyone,” Jackson says, as he takes the liquor bottle by the neck and smashes the end against the desk. Christina jumps away, but the glass shards fly, hitting her arm, face, and neck making her shriek.
“We need to hurry, Jackson,” I say, glancing up at the clock, making him look over at me.
“Let’s finish this quickly then. Do you want her middle or her end?”
“I want her end.”
Jackson looks down at Christina, holding the broken bottle up to her face with a wide grin covering his.
Her eyes widen comically, crossing as the bottle gets closer.
“You’re lucky we don’t have time to spend on you.
I really wanted to show you what fucking me would be like.
Except I was going to use this right here. ”
Her body begins to shake uncontrollably now. Setting the bottle on its side, he grabs both sides of her shirt and rips it open, making buttons fly everywhere. She tries so hard to get up, but now I grab onto the cord, pulling with all my might, so she starts to turn blue.
Lifting the bottle once again, there is a sharp, pointy shard sticking out from the bottom further than all the rest. He rests the sharp edge against the center of her chest. Pressing in, blood begins to pool and spill out as he cuts down her sternum slowly.
The smell of copper permeates the room.
The smell of her blood really gets my engine revving.
Once he’s past the bone, he presses in harder, slicing through the stomach muscle, moving all the way down to where her pants hem is.
Giving it one final push, the hem tears and blood is pouring out of her.
She’s trying to scream, but the pressure of the cord on her trachea is prohibiting much noise from coming out.
My heart is racing with excitement.
“Your turn,” he says, bringing the broken blue glass toward me, handing it to me by the neck.
It’s such a pretty blue color too. Especially now with the mix of blood.
I release the cord, allowing her to breathe and cough, but just barely.
She’s panting for breath now, mixing with her moans.
It shows just how much of her life force is leaving her.
“Let’s end this and get the fuck outta here. ”
Her eyes are rolling around in her head, trying to find focus on something…on anything. I lean down into her face, slapping her cheek with my free hand. I want to make sure I have her full attention and she comprehends exactly what I’m saying.
Her eyes try to connect with mine, but they keep crossing and uncrossing, then rolling around. When her eyes somewhat focus on me, I bring the bottle to my mouth and lick the blood off the side that’s dripping down onto my hand.
My taste buds erupt at the iron taste.
Placing the sharp edge of the broken bottle just below her ear, I pierce the flesh just enough to see her flinch just slightly, squeezing her eyes shut, and watch a drop of blood move down into her ratted hair.
A lone tear falls from her eye, chasing after it.
I push the piece further into her carotid artery and slide it along her throat all the way across to the other ear. The bottle slicing through the soft flesh of her neck like a knife in warm butter.
Then I give her the last words she will ever hear.
“Wait for me in hell. I’m not done with you yet, bitch!”