He cracks his whip, the vicious tip of it ending right in front of her face, and she growls like a cornered dog. He does it again, the whip wrapping around a tree branch instead of her as she sidesteps it, swiftly seizing the end of the whip and trying to yank it from his grip.
A bold, graceful move. I nod in approval.
Unfortunately, it’s a mistake. He yanks on the handle and sends her to her knees, wrapping his whip around her throat as she curses him, pulling desperately on the leather.
“Did you know,” Deacon gloats, “that there’s two hundred and six bones in the human body?” He tightens his grip as she growls, arching her back and thrashing wildly. “And I’m going to break every one of yours. After I fuck you.”
“Oh, please, pencil dick.” She’s choking on the whip, trying to pull it loose, and her voice is nothing more than a rasp. “It’s not like you can get it up anyway, right? That’s why you play little boy games in Daddy’s mansion. Fuck you.” Her face is an alarming shade of red, but her eyes are still spitting fire.
There was no specific plan to kill Deacon at that moment. I just had to.
It only takes three long strides to reach them. I’m nearly silent, and Deacon’s too far into his fantasies of rape and torture to hear me. My bat swings over his head, pressing against the front of his throat with my hands on either end as I jam my knee into his back. It should take less than sixty seconds to crush his windpipe.
His grip loosens on his whip as he throws his head back, trying to knock me off him. He’s a strong fecker, but his muscles come from the gym and he’s been spending too much time terrorizing people smaller and weaker than he is. He looks up, his eyes wide behind his red leather mask, and I smile grimly.
“Tonight’s your night, motherfucker. You’re a dead hunk of meat.”
Deacon growls with fury, throwing his entire body against me, violently arching his back, trying to break free from my grip. I chance a quick glance at my little fox, who’s angrily yanking hiswhip away from her neck and looking like she’d like to use it on us both. Deacon nearly gets loose, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling the bat harder against his throat.
“Fuck- y…” Blood stains his teeth red and wets his lips, veins throbbing violently in his neck. “They’ll k- kill you.”
“No one’s going to miss you,” I grin under my demon mask, “not even your brother. We’ll bring in a new Lord, and you’ll be forgotten. But I’m sure your Daddy will bury you under a tombstone so huge that they can…” My thighs tighten against his ribs, I can feel them bowing inward. “See. From. Space.”
Every tendon in my arms and shoulders is on fire, slowly strangling him with the bat. It’s caving in his throat, but it’s too slow. I’ve got to finish him off before one of the others spots us.
“Knife! He’s got-”
White sparks shoot across my vision as Deacon jams a knife into my thigh, trying to twist it, but his aim is off.
My fox stumbles to her feet, the whip dangling from her hand as she staggers over and tries to hand it to me.
“Wrap it around his throat,” I grunt, ignoring the throbbing agony from my leg. When she does, I pull my bat loose and twist it into both ends of the whip.
It only takes two rotations of the bat before I hear the distinctive crunch of his neck snapping.
I twist it one more time. To be sure.
Falling back on my elbows, I shove him away with my foot, gasping for air. My fox is slumped on her knees, staring at his body. I can tell the instant she thinks about running, her eyes darting to the knife in my thigh and over my head in the direction of the beach.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say harshly. “I can still catch you with this knife in my leg. You’ve just helped me kill one of the Lords of Chaos. Do you have any idea of what they’ll do to you? You’re going to do exactly as I say, and you’ll stay alive.”
“I’m thinking that killing one of your own isn’t going to work out for you either, asshole,” she snarls.
Grunting in amusement, I reach out my hand. “Take off your shirt.”
“Hell, no!”
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I shake my head irritably. “Don’t take this personally, but you’re not looking that good right now. I need it for a tourniquet.”
There’s a moment to enjoy her outrage before she looks down at her cheap tank top. “It’s all I have.”
Growling under my breath, I gesture angrily with two fingers, and she reluctantly pulls it off, leaving her pretty breasts covered in a plain black sports bra. Grabbing a nearby stick, I twist the tank top into a tourniquet just under the knife; the irony of recreating Deacon’s method of death is amusing in a sick way.
Pulling my bat out of the noose around his neck, I take a second to look at him, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly up at the towering trees.
I should feel something.
Satisfaction that I finally put this evil feck out of everyone else’s misery. He was the most vicious of us, the cruelest. He lived for the pain he caused. But looking at the slowly cooling lump of meat, I just feel… blank.
