Chapter 45 #2
And now they’re here, shamelessly fucking each other in the dark like the world owes them privacy.
It almost makes me laugh.
But there’s no humor in me right now.
I step forward quietly.
My fingers wrap around the cold metal of my gun. I pull it out slowly, and then I press the muzzle gently against Josh’s head.
They both freeze. Caleb chokes on a gasp. Josh tenses, rigid like a deer caught in headlights. My smirk is hidden beneath my helmet, but I let it spread anyway.
“Your delivery’s here,” I murmur coldly.
Wh…who are you?” Josh stammers, his voice barely more than a breath. He doesn’t dare move, doesn’t even blink, like the wrong twitch might get him shot.
“Get up,” I say flatly, ignoring the question entirely. “Hands behind your head.”
His face tightens in panic, but he obeys. He pulls out of Caleb, both of their dicks already slackening, and slowly rises to his feet, hands trembling as he laces them behind his head like I ordered.
Caleb tries to stay composed as he pulls up to a sitting position, but I see the flicker in his eyes—fear, raw and barely contained.
“What do you want from us?” he asks, his voice level but not steady.
I don’t answer. Instead, I toss the delivery box at his chest. The dull thud echoes too loudly in the heavy silence.
“Open it. Take out what’s inside.”
He catches the box clumsily, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he opens it. When his hand reaches in and pulls out the rope, I see his throat move with a hard swallow.
Without looking away from them, I step backward, gun still aimed square at Josh’s center mass. My hand finds the wooden chair beside the living room wall. I drag it forward, the legs scraping against the floor like a scream.
“Sit your ass down, Josh.”
He flinches, stumbles backward, then drops onto the chair like gravity yanked him down. His lips are quivering now, eyes glassy, hands clenched.
“Tie him up,” I tell Caleb. “Make it fast. I’m not feeling patient tonight.”
Caleb hesitates only for a second. Then, with tight movements, he kneels behind Josh and begins wrapping the rope around his chest and arms. I use that opportunity to turn up the volume on whatever is playing on the speaker to the highest level.
Josh starts to whimper softly, a high-pitched, pathetic sound that grates on my nerves.
Caleb finishes the knots exactly how I want them. Tight and secure.
When he’s done, he stands. There’s sweat shining on his forehead now, his chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.
“What now?” he asks, teeth clenched. There’s defiance under the fear now, the fight coming back into him.
I let the silence stretch, just to watch him squirm.
Then, slowly, I lift the visor of my helmet, letting my eyes lock onto his. Cold. Unblinking.
My voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.
“Heard you’re a fighter.”
Caleb stiffens, his breath hitching.
I take a step forward, my gun aimed square at his face. Close enough to see the tremble in his lashes. The twitch in his left eye. Fear, barely masked by pride.
“So,” I murmur, tilting my head, “how good are you at that?”
He swallows thickly, but holds my gaze. His jaw locks. His chest rises with some shred of defiance he manages to scavenge from whatever ego he has left.
“Very,” he says, voice low, edged with something sharp. A challenge. Or a bluff.
I smile at him, slow and razor-thin. The kind that never touches the eyes.
Then I unarm the gun in one quick, practiced motion and toss it across the room with a loud clatter.
“Good,” I say softly. “Then show me.”
He blinks. “What do yo—”
I don’t wait for him to finish.
My fist connects with his nose in a brutal snap, the impact sending him stumbling back. He groans, clutching his face, blood gushing through his fingers.
He glares at me, stunned. Disbelieving.
I just cock my head again, watching him like a lion watching a wounded animal crawl.
“You’ve got one minute left to fight me, Caleb.” My voice is calm. Almost bored.
He wipes the blood off his lip and snarls, “Fuck you.”
Then he charges.
And my smile widens feral and hungry.
Because if this bastard thinks he’s walking away with a win? Then he hasn’t met me yet.
I don’t give him the luxury of finishing his swing.
My hand snaps up—fingers curling under his jaw, palm crushing against his throat.
He chokes on air, and before his arms even rise in defense, I seize it and squeeze.
Crack.
The sound is wet, sickening, and it pumps my blood like ecstasy. His shoulder collapses under the force.
He screams.
I slam him to the floor like dropping garbage. His body hits with a heavy, humiliating thud. He doesn’t even resist when my boot crashes down on his chest, holding him in place like a pinned insect.
He wheezes, twitching beneath me.
Eyes wide.
Broken.
Josh sobs from the chair across the room. It’s loud, shrill, pathetic.
I don’t even look as I unclip my helmet and throw with force across the room, fast and clean.
It slams hard, straight into Josh’s face.
He screams, head snapping backward, blood pouring from his nose.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say flatly
Thankfully, he didn’t pass out from it, but at least it’s quiet now.
The silence that follows is loud with fear.
I press my boot harder into Caleb’s chest, not enough to kill him, just enough to remind him he’s alive only because I allow it.
I look down at Caleb, watching his chest shudder beneath the weight of my boot.
“I’m going to feed your dick to you,” I say, voice low and steady, “and watch you choke on it as the light drains from your eyes.”
His gaze widens with terror. He tries to speak, but it comes out as a strangled rasp.
“What do you want?” he chokes, struggling to breathe beneath the pressure.
I tilt my head, giving him a slow, empty smile.
“I just told you.”
I lift my boot off his chest.
He doesn’t even get the chance to scramble away before my hand clamps around his throat, dragging him upright. I don’t punch him. That would almost be merciful. I want him to feel just how much slaps hurt.
I slap him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each strike from my gloved hands lands sharper than the last, snapping his head to the side, blood spraying from his nose and lips. He groans, his head slumping—but I grip him by the throat more tightly and slap him again, hard enough to bring him back from the brink of unconsciousness.
His eyes roll, unfocused, dazed.
“Please…” he breathes.
I ignore it.
Gripping his broken arms, I drag him across the room like a disobedient dog. He screams in pain, and it’s music to my ears. His agony is the only language I want to hear from him.
I discard him at Josh’s feet, the stool creaking as Josh squirms and sobs, tied up and barely touched. Yet he’s the loudest in the room.
“On your knees.”
Caleb obeys this time, too wrecked to resist. He pulls himself up from the floor, trembling, blood dripping down his chin.
I walk over to the center table and sit on it, facing both of them. Their faces are ruined. Eyes wide, terrified. Breathing ragged.
Good.
I slip my hand into my jacket and pull out a cigarette and a lighter.
I don’t smoke often. Never around Lucas. Never in the house. But after I saw that video, I started again. Small, quiet moments when I needed to keep the demons from slipping out of me. Moments like this.
I light it. Inhale slowly. The smoke burns a little, but it anchors me. Keeps me from going too far.
I exhale and look at them—silent, bloody, pathetic.
“Why did you guys do that to him?”
My voice is calm. Controlled.
But underneath, there’s a storm ready to tear the walls down.
“D-Do… what?” Josh stammers, his voice trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
“Please,” he says, choking on his fear, “we didn’t—”
“Oh, you did,” I cut him off coldly, stepping toward them.
My hand cracks across Josh’s face in a single, bone-snapping slap. His head jerks sideways violently, a cry of pain breaking from his throat. Caleb flinches like a coward beside him.
I scoff. “Remember doing that to someone?” I ask Caleb without looking at him.
He blinks, dazed. “Do what?”
Wrong answer.
I slap Josh again. Harder. The sound echoes, my leather gloves against skin, doing more damage. He howls.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Caleb says tightly, trying to hold onto his pride, but I can hear the tremor underneath.
“Oh, you will.”
I grab Josh by the hair, wrench his head up, and slap him again. And again. Each hit is deliberate. Precise. I’m not lashing out—I’m delivering pain with intent. Blood sprays from his nose, his lip splits open. His cries blend into the wet smacks of impact.
Caleb twitches beside me.
I sense it before he even moves.
The moment he tries to rise, I backhand him hard, sending him crashing down again.
I crouch in front of him, eyes locked with his.
“You try to get up again,” I whisper, voice low, sharp as a blade, “and I will rip your arms out of your goddamn shoulders with my bare hands.”
He doesn’t move.
I rise again and turn back to Josh, lifting my hand once more.
He breaks before I even touch him.
“Wait! I know. I know what you’re talking about!” he gasps, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, eyes wide with panic. “It’s Lucas… It’s about Lucas, isn’t it?”
I pause.
Josh is shaking. His face looks like meat someone forgot on a butcher’s block.
Caleb blinks in confusion, then his face shifts. Realization sinks in, slow and sickening.
“You’re here because of Lucas?”
I tilt my head, letting a cruel smile pull at my lips.
“Nice of you to finally catch up. What gave it away?”
Josh swallows.
“I—I don’t know…” He shakes his head slowly, “I just have this feeling ever since that day we were all going to face the karma for what we did…”
“Alex. Six minutes,” Maksim’s voice crackles through the earbud, calm as always.
I sigh. “Hurts me,” I say, stepping closer, “that I don’t have more time to play.”
Josh is crying now. It’s loud, snot-nosed, pathetic.
“Please… I didn’t mean to. They made me—”