Chapter 7
seven
EZRA
I’ve always had a misanthropic view of human nature. Why? Because the most dangerous fucking creatures on this planet are humans. And I’m one of them. For me, people are just meat sacks, a pile of flesh and lard, easy to kill.
I started unaliving people way before I was allowed to drink. Turning into a hitman is kind of ironic, since that was the goal of the Blood Assassin Project. So, Sully was right the scientists were successful—in a way. I smirk.
I’m perfect for this job, excelling at it even—my conscience is clean because I have no conscience.
It keeps my easily bored nature entertained.
My mind rebels at stagnation, and since I faked my death, it has been hard.
Lying low, only taking the occasional contract.
Not wanting to leave Sully for too long.
But when life gives you evil become a nightmare.
And my nightmare side demands retribution.
I usually kill fast and clean, but not this time.
This time I’ll enjoy ripping this fucker’s balls out in pieces and scattering them across the continent, flattening his tiny dick and tossing it in the sewer.
Except the tip, that I’ll feed to a murder of crows.
Another whimper filled with pain resounds in the abandoned warehouse as I grab another arrow from the quiver on the floor.
Jacob is twenty feet away in front of me, hanging upside down from a metal beam, a rope around his feet keeps him dangling in the air.
I tied his hands behind his back and am currently using him as target practice.
“You’re a monster,” he whispers, snot dripping down his bloody nose, gravity pushes it over his forehead. Is he talking about my mask or just the fact that I’m torturing him?
The bruise on his eye turned black. Is this how Ren talked to him? I like his style.
“It takes one to know one, Jacob.” I position the arrow on the bow. “But I’m actually treating you like a human, one who enjoys scaring and hurting what’s mine.”
I release the arrow, watching it fly and pierce his foot.
He has another one sticking out of his shoulder and one in his arm.
I’m making him suffer obviously—before getting to the killing part.
Deserving or not isn’t really the point here.
I want him to feel triple the pain he inflicted to my little chick.
I can almost hear Sully’s screaming voice again.
I was on my way to the oak tree outside his dorm when Jacob attacked him.
Fury threatens to consume me as I remember seeing him on the ground, moaning in pain as I reached them.
I’m glad he stopped me from strangling this fucker, because now I can have some fun.
Just the memory of a shivering Sully in my arms, the smell of terror and panic tainting his luscious scent, ignites a cold murdering craze inside me.
“I told you it was me in the car, but I just wanted to scare him. I swear,” he gasps out. “Yesterday, I just lost it because of Ren. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Liar, liar…
I grab another arrow as he starts crying again.
My custom-made carbon fiber recurve bow is perfection.
Its combat style and heavier body allow me to shoot very accurately from a considerable distance or very quickly and effectively during a close-range fight—the red laser sight helps too.
It’s also durable, and if used in hand-to-hand combat, it can serve as a melee weapon.
It can also shoot multiple arrows simultaneously with incredible precision, but now is not the time.
I fire. He yells. More blood stains his clothes. I wonder how many arrows I’d need to shoot without hitting major organs before he bleeds to death. That would take too much time, and I have Sully to stalk.
I place my bow back in its case and make my way to the fucker.
“I’m gonna stomp my boot in your face until the last thing you see is the back of your head. How does that sound for a way to go?” I tell him, using an empty tone.
“Waiiiit! No, please. Please!” he begs.
Is this why my brother likes torturing so much? The pleading part? Does he relish the donors’ capitulation? Or is it the screams that he craves? The violence and grittiness of it? The blood? I don’t get it. Unless we are talking about retaliation that is.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he tries again as I move near the tight rope, tied to a piece of metal sticking out of the floor.
“I saw the damage you made on his skin and on his mind, you motherfucker,” I snarl. This rage running through my body is a testament to how much Sully is already mine.
I felt the desire to take him the instant I saw those heterochromic eyes.
Now? It turned into a need to possess all of him, dominate his body and own his heart and soul.
Every time I think I’ve reached the peak of ownership, it goes up another notch.
Now that I finally know what it feels like to cradle my little chick in my arms, to feel his tight hole swallowing my cock, and to hear him crying my name as I unload deep inside, I can feel another crank turning in my head.
This is not love, ugh. Watching people from afar was an emotional learning tool that taught me that love is the least constant feeling. It ebbs and flows like the ocean tides, leaving only foam and sand behind.
This is a compulsive, devouring, deep-seated need to keep him with me and to make it so that he can’t see anyone else.
He shines too fucking brightly for people to ignore.
Some even want to dim that light, but I’m the only one holding that power.
Because he belongs to me. My most beautiful possession.
And when people try to take him away from me, they’ll have a taste of my wrath.
“I was paid to do it!” Jacob’s statement makes my hand freeze on the rope.
“Go on,” I hiss, another bit of murderous intent dropping onto the pile.
“I…I fucked up and banged the wrong girl. Her father is-is a big boss or something in the drug cartel, and h-he told me he was going to kill me.” Drool slides down his red face.
“Get to the fucking point!” I snap, yanking two arrows out of his body at the same time and tossing them on the floor.
“Ahhhh! Fuck.” More sobbing. “He-he didn’t. I received a message saying nothing will happen to me if I…if I played with Sully Carver.”
“Played?” I growl like an animal about to attack. My fingers close around another arrow.
“Stop!” he cries out. “I was supposed to screw with him.”
“Be more specific, Jacob.” I give the arrow a twist.
“Jeeeeesus!” he yells. “Get him drunk, fuck him, and pass him around. They wanted pictures of it.”
I yank the arrow out and punch him right in the balls. He gasps and coughs. Tears, blood and saliva mix into his hair.
A dark suspicion starts growing in the pit of my stomach. “Who was the message from?”
“I don’t know their real name. Just the-the handler,” he squeaks. “Phoenix.”
Fury explodes inside me, and I grab the half-broken wooden chair near me and hurl it against the dirty window behind Jacob.
Pieces of glass fly and fall all over him and the floor.
Seeing the damage doesn’t satisfy me. I turn back to the rope and loosen the knot.
Jacob’s bleeding body drops on the floor, before I grab him by the back of his pants and take the two steps to the broken window.
“What are you doing?” he stutters with a weak voice. “Where are you taking me?”
I ignore him and use my boots to crush the big, sharp piece of glass popping out from the low frame.
When I’m done, I pull him up, spin him to face outside, and let go.
He starts falling out of the window, like a bag of potatoes.
His shriek doesn’t stop, not even when I grab the rope around his hands to avoid his fall from the fourth floor of the abandoned building.
“Talk, or I’ll let go,” I state, jerking the rope and letting him lean forward a little more.
“I-I don’t know anything e-else, man.” He sounds breathless, like he’s about to faint. I slap him hard on the forehead.
“Do you still have the messages?” I got his phone; I found it in his pants.
He nods, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and shaking uncontrollably all over.
“What’s the name of the girl you fucked?”
“I-I don’t know!”
“Her father’s cartel?”
“Please pull me inside. I can’t.” His head is turned to the side, and he’s peed himself.
My killing plans are ruined. I need to keep him alive and see what else he knows. Fuuuck! I want to end him now. It takes a long moment to smother my impulses. What’s important right now is finding Nine and stopping her from fucking with Sully.
I yank him inside, letting go of the rope to get him in a chokehold from behind. I drag him back and slam his face into the wall.
“I won’t go near Sully ever again, I swear. Please let me go. Please.” His quavering voice enrages me even more.
“If you ever say his name again, I’ll turn you into a eunuch,” I threaten him, and without giving time to register my words, I turn him around. “On second thought…” I unsheathe my knife. Let him scream as he looks at the shiny blade and stab him right in the leg—an inch from his tiny dick.
He wails like a baby, staring at the handle sticking out of him.
“I won’t miss next time. Now tell me the name of the cartel.”
He looks up at me before his eyes roll back, and he drops to the ground unconscious.
“Fucking shit! For real?” I run a hand into my hair, annoyed.
I kick him in the stomach, but he doesn’t move. I check his pulse, and he’s still alive. My boot finds him again for good measure, but he remains out cold.
“I need that fucking name!” My voice rumbles in the silent room.
I take off my mask with a sigh and pull the paralytic syringe out of my pocket. I crouch down and inject him. I need to hang him again, maybe from his arms this time.