Damien hummed as he tapped one of the two buttons in his brother’s live video chat room, remotely activating the devices hidden beneath Bankes’ desk. Chunky rainbow penis confetti blasted out from the darkness, showering Bankes in sparkling phallic goodness. Bankes shrieked and flailed, tumbling over himself in his haste to escape the largest bukkake ever staged, but there was no stopping a dick when it was already coming.
And come they did.
Hundreds of them.
They found their way into Bankes’ hair, slipped beneath the collar of his shirt, and stuck themselves to his tie. By the way Bankes sputtered as he crawled out from beneath his desk, some of them had scored a little oral action.
Hot.
Damien grinned, then pressed the second button. A small banner unfurled from a hidden place beneath Bankes’ desk. On it was a screen-printed message.
SOUVENIRS FROM FIJI
-Love, Bigg xoxox
“Bye, Bankes,” Damien called as he headed down the hallway. “I’ll always remember how you shrieked like a preteen on their first roller coaster when the glitter first hit, and if I forget, I’ll just play back the footage I took of this very special moment in time. Don’t worry—I won’t send the part where you almost pissed yourself in fear to Whitcroft… just the part where you threaten his career. Have fun cleaning out your office. I’d help, but I’ve got more important things to do.”
Bankes squawked something incomprehensible, but Damien didn’t stick around to figure out what it was. Phase I was over, but Operation: FUCK YOU was far from done.
As Damien made his way to the elevator, he sent Matthew, his brother, and Nadja a text.
Phase I accomplished to great success. Phase II about to begin. Wish me luck.
The elevator doors opened. Damien stepped inside, took a breath to steel himself, and punched the button that would bring him to Whitcroft’s office.
43
Damien
Much like Mordor, Whitcroft’s office was not a place one simply walked into. While it wasn’t bounded by three great mountain ranges, it did house untold, all-seeing evil.
Whitcroft already knew he was coming. Damien felt it in his bones.
Bracing himself for combat, Damien stepped out of the elevator and strode down the hall in the direction of his own personal Mount Doom. In his hand he clenched the one thing that would set him free, and in his heart he carried with him the love and support of his friends and family. While they weren’t there to see him put an end to a legacy of suffering, he knew they were cheering him on from afar.
Like Damien had predicted, Whitcroft’s office door opened upon his approach, and Whitcroft himself stepped out from his lair. He was a tall, impeccably dressed man with a head of white hair, hawkish features, and piercing blue eyes. The foreboding slant of his brows allowed no room for kindness. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was something spiderlike about the way he moved that gave him a calculatingly predatory appearance, like at any moment his willowy limbs might twist in nightmarish ways to launch him fangs-first at whatever fool dared step into his territory.
“Sir,” Damien said with a short nod. He came to a stop several paces away in the hopes it’d be far enough that Whitcroft wouldn’t be tempted to pounce. Like with all spiders, when lacking a flamethrower to take care of the problem outright, it was a good idea to keep some distance.
“Bigg,” Whitcroft replied. There was a stern edge to his voice, like Damien had interrupted him in the middle of something important—probably liquefying the insides of his latest victim. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to tell you something, sir.” Damien cleared his throat and squeezed his hand until he felt his racing pulse throb in his wrist. Staring Whitcroft down was every bit as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Was this how squirrels felt when they taunted indoor cats by sitting on the window ledge? Fuck, what a rush.
Whitcroft’s features tightened, his narrow lips almost disappearing beneath the weight of his disapproval. “Well?”
Damien cleared his throat. He held out his clenched hand, palm up, ready to show what it contained to the man who’d both given him a chance to ascend to professional greatness and made his life an emotionless living hell. When he was sure Whitcroft’s full attention was on his outstretched hand, Damien uncurled his fingers and showed Whitcroft what he’d been hiding all this time—that he was fresh out of fucks to give.
Damien shot him the bird. “Fuck you.”
Fury creased Whitcroft’s brow. “Excuse me?”
“I’m done with this bullshit. I’m out.” Security was already on their way down the hall. Damien cast them a quick glance and calculated how much time he had before they arrived. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that he had time to reach into his pocket and grasp one of the objects inside it. “I hope Bankes has fun juggling all my accounts on top of his own. If you’re lucky, it’ll keep him so busy he won’t have time to stab you in the back.”
That said, Damien took his hand from his pocket, held his open palm at the level of his lips, and blew. The small reserve of rainbow penis confetti he’d set aside for this moment lifted off and tumbled down around Whitcroft like snow. Quite a few penises landed in his hair.
“Have fun!” Damien announced cheerfully as security encroached. The ring had been cast into the volcano—there was nothing else for him to do but leave. “Feel free to give my warmest regards to the other partners, too. Bigg, out.”
Before security could arrive, Damien began his brisk return to the elevator. His pulse rushed in his ears and thudded in his neck, but despite his nerves, every step he took left him feeling better than the last.
