“I asked you a fucking question,” I say and he brings his head up to look at me.
“Why the fuck do I care about a stupid journal?” He snarls right before he literally spits at me.
Wrong answer.
I lunge for the back of his head, pulling on his hair to guide his head back before I swing my brass knucklesinto his face. The audible crack of metal and bone echoes in the air and his scream follows seconds after. Blood spurts from his nose and drips onto his thighs as he writhes in agony.
“What the fuck?” he shouts, and I watch as blood starts to pour from his mouth too.
“I like to be answered when I ask a question, Broden,” I say calmly as I swipe my brass knuckles across the unstained part of his pants, cleaning them of his blood.
“You’re crazy. It’s a fucking journal!” He spits blood out onto the floor before pulling his head back up to look at me.
His eye contact is lazy, but I know it’s probably because he’s feeling a little light headed right now. His nose is also definitely broken as it bleeds profusely along with the sizable gash adorning his cheek.
“I thought so too. But that journal told me some very vital information that I thought you might like to be aware of.” I slide the brass knuckles back into my pocket before dropping to my haunches in front of him.
I press the tip of my knife right under his chin and watch as a bead of blood starts to appear. Broden whines as he tries his best to hold still, attempting but failing to control his breathing.
“Four years ago, there was a party thrown, about a month before Thriller Nights. Someone orsomeoneslured my sister into a room where she was then raped. And while my sister was being assaulted at the party, she claims to have heard your fucking name,” I whisper menacingly. He immediately starts to freak out, causing the blade to scrape across hisskin.
“No.Ow, fuck!No, she didn’t. I wasn’t there, I fucking swear it.” I stand up as he starts to flounder in his chair once more, attempting to kick his feet and wriggle his hands free.
Pure terror crosses his face as he begs and pleads for me to listen to him.
“Are you calling my sister a liar?” I tilt my head at him.
“Yes. I mean no. No. But I- I wasn’t in the room with her. I was su- supposed to meet up with the guys but I passed out drunk. I never actually went. I didn’t even know they actually did it.”
There we fucking have it.
I step up to him, but this time, instead of using my knife, I decide to pull the pistol from my hoodie.
“So,” I start, making a show to analyze the gun . “You do know who was in that room with her?” I ask.
Broden pales as I lean in and hold the tip of the gun to his forehead.
“Y- yes, I- I mean, I think. I do- don’t really know if they went thr- through with it or not. Damn it.” I can see he’s struggling to keep his brave face but is panicking instead.
“You better not leave a fucking detail out, or you’ll face a fate far worse then Deck’s,” I threaten but his eyebrows pinch inward as he tries not to move.
“Deck? You mean like Deck Winters? Wha- what the hell does he have to do with this?”
I pause for a beat, hearing the genuine confusion in his tone. Deck is the only other name Seren gave me, but he’s already dead. But if Broden had anything to do with what happened to Seren, and he’s questioning my mention of Deck, then why did Seren accuse him?
I don’t have time to think about his concern though.
“Broden, I’m giving you five fucking minutes.” I push the metal tip of the gun into his skull, eager to get this piece of shit dealt with so that I can move on with my night.
“Okay, okay. If I tell you what I know, will you let me go?” He squeezes his eyes shut, desperation lacing his voice.
“Depends on my mood afterward.” I’m not sure I truly intend to kill him one way or the other. I want to, but I know for sure I will do whatever I have to get the answers I need out of him.
He swallows before opening his mouth to answer me. “I didn’t have sex with your sister. But I- I was the one who dru- drugged her.”
I don’t move, and neither does he. Silence greets us for a moment as he keeps his eyes shut and I keep absolutely still. But the second he dares to open his eyes, likely in an attempt to see my reaction, I make my move. I whip the side of his skull with the butt of my gun. He shrieks in pain and blood starts to drip from the side of his head.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries and chants pathetically, over and over again.
