“We’re going to play a little game. You answer correctly, and all this disappears.” My arms splay, referencing our situation. “First question. Where’s your wife and daughter?” I already know, but I want him to suffer, to admit to being a lowlife.
“They’re visiting her mother up north.” The words slip from his silver tongue easily—a rehearsed response. No delay. No thought. He’s used to people believing every word from his putrid mouth.
A sweet smile tilts my lips as I lean in, picking up the hammer and a nail. “Wrong.” Quickly, the mallet comes down on the spike, impaling the back of his hand, and fastening him to the table.
Finally, his scream rips through the air, eliciting shivers of joy. “What the fuck! Please! What do you want? I can pay you. Anything! Please!”
His pleas tip the rest of my sanity into the abyss, and his eyes widen further in fear when he sees the shift. “You think you can buy me?” I pluck the next nail off the desk, trailing the pointdown his arm.Possiblypressing too hard on the way down, trickling a bloody trail in its wake. “Where is your family, Judge Jackson?”
“She left me!” he screams, hoping honesty will save his right hand.
“For what?”
His eyes flare wide, understanding where I’m leading him, but continues to fib. “I cheated. Several times.”
Manic laughter bursts free. “I don’t doubt that. In fact, I know that’s true, but what was the incidentspecificallythat caused her to pack her and little Becky’s bags, and head for the hills?”
“I don’t kn… know what yo… you mean…” The hammer slams down on the next nail, lightning quick, impaling the right hand, and affixing it to the table. His screams pour from his soul instantly, reverberating against empty halls, fueling the vindictiveness inside.
“You knowexactlywhat I’m talking about.” The words growled through clenched teeth, furious that he’s lying, even in the face of his Reaper.
“No.No.No, no, no.”
His pleading lodges a lump in my throat, and swallowing around the softball size of emotion is difficult when I offer him one more chance at redemption. “Look at me.” I demand, and surprisingly, he does. “Lookreallyhard. If you can tell me who I am, I’ll let you go and never return. All of this will disappear.”After an entire minute of his studying my face for any clue, any iota of recognition, I see nothing. He has no idea who I am. Stupid as it is, accepting the trauma he placed on us, and an apology would have gone a long way. A single tear slips from my eye, silently realizing there’s no going back. They’ve forced me to become Death, and now they’re all going to suffer and pay the consequences.
The Judge fish-lips, maw gaping, trying to land on an answer that’ll never come. He doesn’t remember. He’s shuffling through thousands of sick fetish fantasies and coming up with nothing.
A smile slowly stretches as darkness tickles like a lover across my skin, flashing transparently in my wild fake brown eyes, while excitement flutters like butterflies in my stomach.Reign, this one’s for you.
“You’ve been judged, Mr. Jackson. Found guilty by your peers, or in this case, me. The pieces you’ll lay in are too good a death for you, but for dramatic effect, it’ll have to do.” My voice is even, seemingly unaffected by the torment pouring from my soul.
“You can’t do this!” His struggles, tearing the skin around his hands, and for a moment, I’m mesmerized by the blood trailing across the wood.
“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to watch, since I don’t want to die too.” My lower lip pushes out into a pout, and even though he’s nailed down to his own fucking desk, desire flairs inhis sick-as-fuck eyes. “Your family is safe at least, especially now that you’ll be out of the picture. They’ll inherit the nice life insurance policy I’ve set up for them, since you were too much of a piece of shit to leave them one.”
“I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please…”
My head is shaking before he finishes. “I gave you a chance. More of a chance than you gave us. Reign and I didn’t deserve what you and my uncles did to us, and now it’s time to reset the balance.”
His eyes are as wide as saucers, panic shining brightly when he replies, “You’re supposed to be dead. They said they took care of it, left you to burn.”
The sleeve of my shirt slips higher, exposing the scars the flames left behind—jagged reminders of a fire I didn’t fully escape. Over the years, I layered tattoos across the damage, weaving ink and color into the ruined skin, turning pain into something deliberate. From a distance, it almost looks intentional, like art instead of aftermath. But if you look closely, the truth is still there. The uneven texture. The roughness that no amount of ink can completely erase. “Not unscathed, unfortunately.”
“You’ll never get away with this. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.” Somehow, he grows more balls after figuring out who I am and why I’m here.
My head tilts like a questioning pup as a sneer replaces the crazy tip of my lips. “You’ve got that backwards… I’m coming for all of you, and when I’m done, there’ll be nothing and no one left.” The fear returns to his eyes, where it rightfully belongs. “Now that you’ve decided to get uppity, I’m going to have to teach you one more lesson. A lesson I should have started with but is definitely an amazing finale.”
The survival knife strapped to my thigh—Stabby McStabface is his name—is the perfect weapon for my next move. As the button snaps open, his gaze drops to my metal friend, all desire vanishing as he locks onto the largest blade I carry. “Wha… What’s that for?” He shrinks back, shaking like a cornered animal, and then I hear it—the slow, humiliating drip of water.
Confused at first, but as I get closer, I realize it’s because he’s pissing himself. A giant barrel of a laugh escapes, watching thisbig bad manbreak like a ball sack. Tears are rolling down my cheeks when I perch myself next to him and wipe my eyes.
“Oh, that’s good. I’ll have to have them write Judge Peebody on your headstone.” My hysterical laughter only makes him angrier, and I watch as he struggles again, still accomplishing nothing. “At least you got to use it one last time.” A sinister smile takes over, and it’s in that last look that he seems to understand what’s about to happen, tearing his hand with his vigorous struggles.
“No! No! Please!” Panic truly sets in for the first time. For men like the judge here, that’s typically tied to their dick.
“This is going to be tricky with your hands already nailed down. I’m going to need to get creative.” The play-by-play is mostly for me. For the sick need for payback. For a brief moment of satisfaction. We don’t get to forget what was done to us, not ever, so it feels like my duty to make sure his suffering stretches across the short life he has left.
His pleas for mercy are white noise as I squat down and work my best stabbing arm in between the judge’s chest and the desk. Hint: it’s the burned one.
