Chapter Three #2
Without my arm blocking the gap, Greg’s pain-filled eyes latch onto mine, sparkling with glee. Another giggle slips free, enjoying the agony on his face. “Hey, Greggy-poo!”
“She’s there! On the other siii…” He tries to warn his partner, before a well-placed jab sinks into his temple, silencing him permanently.
“Fuck,” his partner whispers, voice shaking.
Fortunately, no guns are fired, and the radio deafens the two dildos in the back. Their ignorance gives me a moment to play.
As I round the shelf slowly for show, clinking my knife against the metal railings, I sing-song, “Oh, Danny boy! Oh, Danny boy… you’ve been naughty.” He shuffles back a step from whatever he sees glinting in my eyes. “You’ve been judged and found guilty of your sins. I’m here to collect.”
“Fuck you, you little bitch.” His hand whips behind his back, going for his gun.
Unfortunately for him, my knife’s already sinking into his neck, loosening his grip on the gun until it falls to the floor. Moments later, he tips towards the concrete, clutching his neck desperately. His maw silently opens and closes until he finally finishes choking on his own blood and dies.
“Greg! Dan! One of you motherfuckers pick up your phone. Where are you?” Heavy footfalls clang down the metal stairs from the next level.
These morons are practically handing me their lives.
“Dammit! Where the fuck are…” He notices Danny-Boy seconds before my knife slices through the back of his knees.
Whoever designed this place shouldn’t have left blind spots under the stairs.
Mr. Henry Tatum—president at keeping his mouth shut while trafficking underage kids—screams like the little bitch that he is and falls down the rest of the stairs.
His face greets the concrete first, breaking his nose, and smashing a few teeth out.
As he breathes, blood spittle’s the ground like a splatter painting next to discarded teeth.
Henry groans loudly, attempting to yell for Patrick, the last man standing in the warehouse—my last target. He hasn’t moved, but his eyes are wide with fright, signaling a broken back. All the better to let him burn.
One more to go, and this place will be brighter than the Griswald’s on Christmas when I blow the roof off the building. Tired of waiting for the next lackey to get with the program, I hurry things along by whistling, drawing attention to this side of the warehouse.
The tune to The Dock of the Bay blasts into the quiet building, bouncing off the walls like I’m a one-woman show, and the world’s best whistling marmot. Laughter burst free, joining the cacophony of noise, picturing those giant squirrel bastards.
Patrick’s a smidge smarter than his comrades and at least tries to sneak up on me, gun actually pulled, and ready. His ugly mug peeks around the corner, tracking the echo of laughter, eyes desperately seeking the source.
“You’ve been judged, Patrick.” I twist around the end of the pill shelf as a bullet flies past my shoulder, slicing through plastic, and spraying little blue tablets in its wake.
“Fuck you, bitch.” He spews hatred, along with a few more rounds, guessing where I’m hiding.
Another giggle erupts as my favorite green blade glides through the air, piercing its target’s collarbone, severing the brachial nerve, and rendering his left arm immobile. It’s not his gun hand, though. I want a bit of a challenge tonight.
“Now, now. That’s no way to speak to Death.
I’ve come for your sins, and you’ll pay for them with blood, and agony.
” If I’m not mistaken, I hear a whimper after my spiel, enticing a devil-may-care smile.
“No use in whimpering. Did you allow little Tommy to have that luxury, hmm? When he asked you to stop, did you? When he cried for his pathetic druggy mother that you fuck to stay close to her kid, did you stop!” Another blade cuts through the space between us.
Faster. Harder. An entombment of hatred for what he and every person like him stand for.
The shouts of pain and clatter of his gun are music to my ears.
I’d love nothing more than to bask in their deaths all night, hearing them scream and beg for mercy, but time is another enemy as the next shift is due soon.
Not another minute wasted, I flicked two more blades at his retreating form. Fucking coward.
They sink deep and hit their mark. Not enough to kill, but maim, bringing him to his knees without chance of escape. “You’ll never get away with this! You have no idea who you’re fucking with, do you, bitch?”
He tries to laugh in the face of his death, but it’s all wiped away when I step out from the darkness seamlessly.
“Oh, I know exactly who I’m fucking with.
” I proceed to read his crimes aloud for fate to decide what to do with him once I pass him to the underworld.
“Today, you get the judge, jury, and executioner. Deliberation didn’t take long.
Death, the verdict.” He flinches at the glint in my eyes, shining as brightly as my blades before they found purchase in his flesh.
“Fucking crazy bitch.” The words are spit as he attempts to drag himself closer to the exit, which helps me, because I want him close to his friend. “They’ll come for you.” Blood trails behind him in rivulets, painting the concrete red.
A swift kick to the ribs stops his caterpillar crawl.
Baring my teeth, I growl, “I’m counting on it.
” The snarky attitude is washed from his face, replaced by true terror.
“Finally, there it is. Now, move closer to your friends.” His donut middle doesn’t allow him to crawl well, but they’re next to each other.
For fun, I cinch their hands together, creating a chain of bad guys instead of gingerbread men.
“There! Aww! You four are so cute. I wish I had time to drag the others in here and connect them.” Shrugging, I pull out a can of lighter fluid, and step forward.
Two of the four are already dead, but the last two can suffer enough for all of them.
“Now be good boys and try not to scream too much. Believe it or not, that’s the worst part.
Tends to give me a headache.” The Dock of the Bay picks up where I left off whistling, as I begin to douse the four of them with flammable liquid.
It doesn’t take long for them to figure out what’s going to happen next. Protests rise, passionate pleas, all falling on deaf ears. No one listened while they defiled the innocent, and neither will I.
“Please! Please! I have a family. They need me.” From anyone else, that statement would be heartfelt, but I know better; I know what goes on behind the closed doors of his home.
Laughter overflows, mania heavily setting in.
It’s a fine line to stay in control, instead of letting the monster inside free.
“You think they’ll miss you?” I growl, spittle flying from my lips, landing on their faces.
“They’ll rejoice when you’re charcoal. You’re nothing.
And soon, that’s exactly what you’ll be—nothing…
” I turn—but wait for it—because I’m all about the dramatics and finales in this bitch. “Except ash.”
With the flick of my wrist, the match strikes the box, and flares to life. The flame reflects in my fake shit-brown eyes—the last thing these monsters will ever see before returning to the pit of hell.
“See you in hell, boys.” The sliver falls from my fingers, flame flickering in the air on the way down.
Seconds before it hits the ground, it’s snuffed out.
I pout, stomping my foot. “Dammit! I had that badass speech and everything!” Their shouts increase in volume, but they’ve faded to the background as I swipe another and toss it down, ensuring the heat catches, and watching as it crawls across the ground like ocean waves of fire.
The fingers of death crawl up Henry’s legs first, confirming his paralyzed state when he doesn’t move or increase his protests.
Patrick’s squealing enough for both of them, using his floppy-caterpillar move to escape the flames, but the way their ginger-breaded together by their hands doesn’t allow the movement he’ll need. It’s pointless.
Flames trail the path of the lighter fluid like swirls of sunset colors, catching on cloth—on hair.
Between one blink and the next, they’re engulfed in the inferno.
Screams pilfer the air, creating a crescendo of joy on my side, and terror for them.
A smile dabs my lips, knowing that these bottom feeders have paid their penance with pain, that their victims will have some sort of peace.
These monsters are living on borrowed time.
For years, they’ve walked free—thinking they got away with it. Thinking the fire erased everything.
But they’ll never see the ghost coming.
The one they thought died that night.
The boys don’t know the entire story. They think I was lost in the flames. But Dean and Bryce?
They haven’t looked over their shoulders once.
They should’ve.
They’re the ones who threw me down beside my father’s lifeless body and watched the fire swallow us whole.
They torched my world—ripped it apart without blinking.
And the way they lit that match?
It’s poetic, really.
Because that’s exactly how they’ll go down.
Their empire, their lies, every sick bastard tied to them—
They’ll all burn.