For a moment, it’s silent in the room. The only sound is the fire crackling in the fireplace.
Then I reach into my pocket and press play on my phone, and Christina Aguilera’s “Dirty” blasts into my ear. Fucking love this song. The perfect song to slice off body parts.
Though I should play that bullshit Mariah song. That would keep me angry enough to swing this heavy ax when my arms get tired.
“Wait!” Asshole McGee says, running over to twink and thrusting him toward me. “Take him. We… we… we can share him. I saw how you looked at him in the store. Please. We won’t even tell about Garth.”
Huh, Garth is a fitting name for my first victim.
The twink looks at me, those big eyes wet with tears and fear. “Please don’t,” he mumbles, face pale.
I scoff. I’m not here for ass, though he is pretty as fuck. I’m a killer, not a rapist. I’d never take anyone against their will. I’m here to work out some frustration. Offering me a sexy twink won’t guarantee they get out of here alive.
Using my foot, I kick the door shut to stop the snow from coming in.
Then I get started.
It’s about time for my arrival, indeed.
I look around, and my gaze locks on the man who had his arm around the twink in such a possessive way, keeping him caged in against him when it was apparent he didn’t want to be.
Pointing the ax at him, I say, “Tag. You’re it.” His eyes grow wide and I think I see a faint stain on the front of his sweatpants.
The men try to run away, but they end up colliding together, falling down in a tangle of arms and legs. The one who’ll be my first—well, second—victim has a knife, and it ends up in Asshole McGee’s leg. Asshole McGee yells and holds on to the weapon, but is smart enough not to pull it out.
Good. He’s mine, not his clumsy fucking friend’s kill by accident.
With a roar of my own, I bring the ax over my head and bury it in the scalp of Mr. Grabby Hands, cutting off his cry of fear.
Quick as a flash, I yank it out and slice the throat of the man who’s gaping up at me, frozen in terror.
The last uninjured man gets to his feet and races through the kitchen to the back door.
“Please,” he cries, looking back at me as he yanks on the doorknob. “I didn’t wanna be here. They… they… they made me. I wasn’t going to touch him. Tell him, Remi. I was always nice to you. Please. I don’t wanna… no! No!”
He drops to his knees with his hands up, and I swing the ax, cutting through the bone and muscles of both wrists like butter. He screams loud enough he’d have burst my eardrums if I didn’t have Lorde telling me about royals. I silence his shout by beheading him.
Turning around, I see that the twink is still kneeling in the middle of the floor where Asshole McGee left him, and Asshole McGee is trying to drag himself towards the door, his hand fumbling in his pocket.
I whistle along to the music, dragging the ax behind me as I slowly make my way over to him. My music is low enough that I can hear the drag of my weapon against the floor and Asshole pleading softly, his bottom lip trembling.
“Look, man,” he says, and I tilt my head to the side as I watch him slide backward towards the front door. “I didn’t mean that shit in the store. I have money.” He removes his shaky hand from his pocket and tosses his wallet at my feet. “Take it.” Asshole McGee looks at the blood and carnage around him, his face paling before it goes green and he leans to the side and pukes. I scoff at his weak stomach.
He wipes the back of his mouth, then continues to slide towards the door, trying to get away, a trail of blood following him. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s… it’s his fault.” He points a trembling finger at the twink, who is looking around with glassy eyes. His reaction would be heartbreaking if I gave a fuck.
Turning away from him, I just manage to duck from the knife Asshole McGee throws at me. It manages to graze my ear, pissing me off.
He lifts his hands, crying in great heaving sobs as I grip the handle of the ax so hard my knuckles crack.
Growling, I stalk over to him and raise the haft, bringing it down through his hands to bury in his chest. His mouth peels wide in shock, looking down at his missing body parts and the blade in the center of his ribs.
Planting my foot in his belly, I yank the weapon out, and blood spurts everywhere. That seems to get his attention, and he screams louder than Kelly Rowland telling me about her motivation.
Annoyed that he’s ruining one of my favorite songs, I bury the ax in his face. I plant it so deeply I can practically see his brain—what little of it there is.
He gargles for a moment, then stops moving.
Throwing my head back, I let out a long sigh. Frustration and anger bleed out of me in a rush. After Asshole McGee’s bullshit, that fucking song, and all the fucking snow, I needed this.
