29.
“D on’t you dare put your hands on me!” Fredrick screams as he thrashes violently under me.
“Technically, I’ve got my groin on you,” I say, briefly glancing downward before looking at him again. “And honestly, you’re not giving me the best straddling experience right now, what with being so noncompliant and all.”
“You think you’re so fucking smart, aren’t you?” he sneers, jerking under me again. “Guess what, kid: you are nothing but dirt under my feet. Just like with everyone who crosses me, you’ll be nothing but forgotten history when I’m don–”
“I’m sorry, but why haven’t you punched him in the face yet?” asks a voice – one that immediately sparks electricity in every single one of my goddamn veins.
I chuckle before I face her, and when her gleaming eyes meet mine, I grin and reach out a hand to her.
She places hers in mine and grins back at me, then hisses when her wounded palm touches mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say instantly, then bring her hand close to my lips before placing a kiss on her knuckles.
“It’s alright,” Cigs tells me around a soft smile, then slides her hand from mine as she rounds the corner and kneels next to the left side of Fredrick’s head.
The piercing sound of a gunshot meets my ears, followed by urgent stomping. Fredrick shrieks under me, thrashing harder than before.
“What is happening? What the fuck is happening?! ” he yells like the toad that he is.
Cignette sighs and bunches his hair between her fists, then roughly yanks his head up and sideways. His neck makes a sharp tick-like sound, and he screams. “Here you go; front row seat for you,” she mutters.
Fredrick starts crying. I’m talking shoulder-shaking, tear-induced crying.
With his face angled in a very uncomfortable-looking way, and Cignette’s ironclad hold on his hair, he makes for a delightful sight.
If it wasn’t for my concern towards my friends, I’d have enjoyed the state he’s currently in a bit more.
More gunshots ring out, echoing through the space. Whipping my head towards what looks like a crowded brawl on the other side of the garden, I notice 2 fallen guards, and another as Varsha shoots him in the forehead.
Next to her, Aras and Magner are busy toying with two masked guards, distracting them with false offenses and then hitting them where they’re vulnerable.
My attention is briefly shifted from my friends to Heyman, who is kneeling and cowering in front of one of Frederick’s guards, who has the tip of a handgun pointed at the arc of his sweaty head.
I then realize it’s the same guy who was holding Cignette captive earlier, but before I can think much of it, I notice a security personnel – his fist reared back to deliver what could possibly be a harsh blow – beelining for Safiya.
She thankfully sees him coming, then sidesteps him just in time, making him trip.
She then deftly opens her clutch, pulls out a beautiful, rose gold trench knife from inside it, and tosses the former over her shoulder.
However, as she glides the weapon’s grip/handle on her fingers, I see that it’s made in such a way that instead of the blade itself, it’s the weapon’s knuckle duster handgrip that is its main focus.
The spikes are long and look well-sharpened, even from afar, with the knife attached to the outer portion of the weapon.
While she’s distracted, the security guy in front of her finds himself an opening. Before I can yell a warning, he charges at her, punching her in the jaw.
Safiya stumbles, shakes her head as if clearing it, then scowls and moves forward.
The knuckle duster connects with the guard’s nose, sending him reeling.
But, before he can recover from it, she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kicks him in the crotch, causing him to bend over.
Still holding onto him, she shakes him, and when he looks up at her, she fists her hand and raises it, then stabs the trench knife into the guard’s neck before dragging it all the way to the other side, splitting open his throat.
A watery stream of blood pours out of it, drenching his pale shirt and slacking body.
Safiya lets him go, and as he falls to the ground in an unceremonious heap, she shrugs her bloodied hand over him and moves towards another guard.
I shift my attention to Alex next, who ducks just in time to avoid being hit by the sleek butt of a security personnel’s AR-15. Sliding the curb chain from his pocket, he brings its ends together, doubling it, then skillfully leaps towards the guard before slashing the chain across his skull.
The guard’s upper body jolts sideways, right before he loses his footing and lands on the grass. Solo comes to stand over him, and then, bringing his silver pistol forward, he puts a bullet in the poor guy’s cervical spine.
I bring my eyes back to Cignette, and feel my lips spreading into a wide smile. “This looks too good to not be a part of.”
She huffs out a short, airy laugh, then all but dumps Fredrick’s slanted head to the ground. “Well, I’m onboard with whatever unhinged theatrics you’re currently weaving inside that devious head of yours.”
I chuckle. “I love how easy you are with me.”
She scoffs. “Don’t test my generosity; this entire bullshit mission is already way above my pay grade, so I’m doing you a solid by agreeing to indulge your itches.”
“Awh, aren’t you the epitome of Joan of Arc reborn,” I muse.
Fredrick makes a grunt-like sound. “I’m still here,” he croaks out.
“And what a misfortune that is,” I tell him.
Cignette laughs a little, so I give her a quick wink before looking to my left, and find Magner stabbing his beautiful dagger into a guard’s eye.
Next to him, Aras grabs another guard in a secure sleeper hold.
I watch, utterly transfixed, as he chokes him, right before twisting his forearms, jerking the guard’s neck sideways.
He then yanks the guard’s head up and backwards, giving him what looks like a manual hangman’s fracture.
The guy falls to the ground – his neck now distorted, and his eyes all but bulging out of their sockets.
Holy fucking shit, that was beyond impressive.
God, I hate that I’m missing out on all the fun. But I’ve got something important to do; a dirt of a man to punish. Priorities and all, I guess.
Aras kicks the corpses away from him, just as Magner wipes his dagger on his pant thigh, leaving behind a wide, chunk-studded stain.
“Yo, Magner!” I call out.
He jerks his head up and looks my way, pocketing his weapon in the process. “Yeah?”
“Can you lend me a hand, please?” I ask, gesturing towards Fredrick.
He nods. “Yeah, sure.” He pats Aras’s arm, staining his shirt with blood. With a twisted scowl on his face, Aras glances between said stain and Magner, but before he can open his mouth to say something, Magner turns away from him and starts walking over to me.
“He’s probably going to have your ass for that,” I tell him the second he reaches me.
Magner laughs, pulling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Eh, let him. It’s fun tainting his pristine exterior sometimes. It’s my version of getting him to touch some grass, I suppose.” He bends and grabs Fredrick by the collar, who grunts and proceeds to thrash once again.
“Let me go!” he yelps. “You’re filthy! Don’t you dare touch me, you’re filthy !”
Magner rolls his eyes. “Where do you want him?”
I smirk. “Right in the center. And while you’re at it, ask everyone to gather around, will you? Let’s make this a little interesting.” I stare down at Fredrick, and when he glares at me, I shoot him a wide, mocking smile. “He does, after all, deserve an audience for his farewell.”
Magner whistles, long and low. “ Devious . I fucking love how you think.”
“I never cease to amaze myself, really,” I muse, to which both Cigs and Magner laugh.
“You lot will burn in hell, I promise you,” Fredrick decides to spew his unwanted two cents.
Magner straightens – completely ignoring the nutsack, of course – and is about to pull him away from us, but stops when Cigs calls his name.
“Use his hair instead of his collar, please,” she suggests. “You know, for better leverage and all.”
Magner looks giddy now; he’s visibly excited.
His eyes are gleaming; his lips are spread in a manic smile.
I match the sentiment, for sure, because shit like this gets people like us off.
Causing pain and discomfort to someone like Fredrick is equivalent to a trip to Disneyland, but unlike that experience, this one can’t be eclipsed.
Fredrick claws at Magner’s hand when he clutches strands of his hair in a fist. He then tries to twist his body in an attempt at breaking out of his hold, but quickly realizes that Magner’s strength far surpasses his pointless struggles.
As Magner drags Fredrick away from Cigs and I, the dense raking sound of fabric against grass fills my ears, accompanied by the sweet smell of crushed blades and Fred’s desperate, muffled groans.
He goes back and forth between clutching his already injured neck to his scalp, which I’m pretty sure is throbbing in pain right now, given the vise grip of Magner’s fist.
“This is so satisfying,” Cignette says softly.
I glance at her, then get to my feet before walking over to her.
Offering her a hand, I help her stand, then erase the short space between us by stepping close to her.
For the first time since she was taken from me over an hour ago, I look at her.
Really look at her. I study the purpling bruises on her angled face, along with the small scars scattered across her cheeks, her jaw, and her slender neck.
With an invisible weight on my chest, I bring my right hand forward and gently push back the matted down hair clinging to her skin.
She winces at that, but lets me finger comb them back and behind her ears.