Once my boots hit the concrete floor, I twirl, lips quirked and arms spread wide like the Greatest Showman. “Step right up, gents. Place your bets. Our main attraction of the night is about to begin, and it’s interactive. The rules are simple. Cause him to bleed, you score a point. Cause him to yell or shout, and you score five points. Make him cry or beg, score fifteen points. Hit the bullseye, score twenty-five. And if you can make him talk? You win the pot and the game.”
Stepping up to the table, I continue, “Each round is a different weapon. We’ll start with throwing stars and end with guns.” I pause, turning, taking in the blindfolded man whose life will end here tonight. He already looks like his ride here was a bumpy one with no seatbelt. “If he lasts that long,” I snicker.
I hear a mixture of their reactions. Wyatt’s cackle and Lev’s scoff at my stupidity. Not wanting this to be too mundane, I decide to up the ante.
“I forgot to mention, to keep things interesting, you can’t bet on yourself.”My hands instinctively gravitate to the throwing knives— itching to feel the cool metal against my fingertips. I grab the matte raven-colored stars, foregoing Lola for the moment. Bringing one point to my lip, I open my mouth and test the sharpness against the tip of my tongue—perfection.If only my angel was here to christen its point with the iron of her blood.
The reminder of her absence reinvigorates my hunger for the man on the wheel’s end. The fucking audacity of this amoeba to help facilitate her being taken from us means he’ll be skull fucked by Lola before this is over.
Sebastian’s voice cuts off my thoughts, “Five thousand and the keys to my cabin in Aspen for a year. I think Wes will get him to talk first.”
Clutching my chest in faux heartbreak. “You wound me. I thought for sure I’d be your pick.”
Chuckling, Seb replies, “I don’t doubt your skill,” he pauses, pointing to the ax in Wes’s hand, “but I think the hardware he’s wielding will make our boy there sing. Either way, it’ll make him talk.”
Silly Seb. How quickly he forgets.
“It’s not the size of the tool. It’s how you use it.” I begin, readying the blade. “Or in my case— it’s both.” I sail the blade through the air, eyes following its progression until it lands right between our guest’s legs, under his ball sack.
A quick grunt and jerking of arms can be heard from the front of the room.
“Careful, buddy, or you’ll be nutless,” Lev jokes from his spot on the wall. His arms are crossed, studying the man— observing every tick, twitch, or hitch of breath. It’ll be him or me that makes this man talk.
“That doesn’t count,” Wyatt shouts, pausing his examination of his throwing stars.
“Just a little test run. Making sure our friend here is awake,” I reassure.
Wyatt is a joking bastard, but he’s competitive as fuck sometimes. However, this time I think it’s the combination of wanting answers and wanting retribution driving him to want to win.
“Okay, I got five and my bike for a weekend on Wy making the fucker crack,” Wes shouts.
“You can’t do this!” the idiot from the front of the room screams.
“Au contraire mon ami. We can do whatever the fuck we want.” Lev’s tone is arctic as he continues. “Did whomever you work for not tell you how this all works?” he mocks, his deft fingers grabbing the pliers from the table, and I already know what’s about to happen when he prowls to the unseeing man.
I follow his stride with my eyes, watching his approach. He looks like a panther on the prowl. Each time his long legs step soundlessly closer, my smile grows. It’s like watching the Discovery Channel or some shit.
The wail that engulfs the room is like an adrenaline shot to my dick—fuck,Lev’s pulled a tooth from the man’s mouth. I inhale his screams like it's a fresh brew after a late night.
“Hey, that doesn’t count either. If he squeals before we start, I say we still play just for bragging rights,” Wyatt voices, determined to make this a real competition.
I chuckle at his eagerness. We need to get this show on the road.
“Not the teeth, eager beaver. We need him to talk,” Sebastian jeers.
“What? I left his tongue, didn’t I? You don’t need teeth to talk, and I only took one.” He shrugs.Lev is a sicker fuck than even I am. People just don’t seem to notice.
“Finish placing bets so we can announce me as the winner already,” Wyatt demands.
“Fine. Five grand and keys to Rubi for a day on bloodthirsty Lev over there,” I state.
“Finally, someone with some sense,” he responds. It’s an unusual display of confidence— one I hope he exudes more often.
“I’ve got five large and a tattoo on me that Sebastian’s going to be the one to do it,” Wyatt states. “He can’t wear those uptight wedgie-inflicting suits for nothing,” he tacks on— his coppery brows wiggling in jest.
Raucous laughter erupts in the room, causing the man to shriek in surprise.
With bets placed and the order chosen, we line up by the table.
