Wes steps forward, five six-point ninja stars at the ready, “Do you want to make this easy and just answer who ordered the van and where it was going?” he probes, but the man remains silent.
It’s better this way or at least more fulfilling.
Determining he won’t get a response, Wes pinches a star between the knuckle of his index finger and thumbprint, lining it up with one of the points— great form.
The whirring of gears turning brings my focus away from Wes momentarily to see the wheel begin to spin.
My smile grows. “Oh, this is going to be much more fun than I originally thought,” I mumble as a shocked cry bursts from the now spinning man’s lips.
“I say the stars should just be a practice round, and then we can question the dumb fuck,” Wes suggests, and then he whips his through the air.
A shriek sounds. “That’s a motherfucking hit,” Wes shouts before launching the four remaining stars in rapid succession. Each time a whimper or scream is heard, but no other indication our guest is primed to talk.
We each take our turn, eager to move on to something more lethal and finally get some answers.
After the first round, Sebastian has edged me out by five points.The ass. He always loved to be the one edging someone.
The wheel stops. Once the dude is upright, he opens his mouth and spews vomit everywhere.Fucking gross.
“Someone’s made a mess of themselves,” Lev taunts.
This is his wheelhouse. The weapons serve a purpose, but the mind games he’s sowing are precisely why he’s my choice to win.
Blood runs in rivulets down his body, his skin oozing from head to toe in twenty-five varying levels of cuts— some superficial, others more profound. A few stars are protruding from his torso.
Eager to continue, Wyatt picks up the throwing knives. “I’m up first this time,” he asserts. He doesn’t wait for consensus. Instead, he throws his blade, and it impales itself into the man’s closed fists.
Screams and curses fly from the man’s mouth, but Wyatt doesn’t wait— there will be no reprieve for him. He sails the next one into the man’s muscled thigh.
“Still want to keep your fucked up vow of secrecy, Stephen?” Wyatt asks. The anger lacing his question is enough to make me pause. Stephen should probably answer.
“Fuck you,” Stephen chokes out, spittles of snot and blood spraying around him. He’s not surprised we know his name. He’s, at least, not a complete idiot.
Needing no further encouragement, Wyatt sends his remaining three knives into Stephen’s various body parts— a shoulder, a foot, and his other thigh.
Watching the blood run from each wound causes a pull in my groin. I grab hard at my dick, adjusting it while I try to give it a ‘now’s not a good time’ pep talk. Normally I’d be all over the high this brings, but without Ariah being the one screaming in pain and pleasure while her blood touches my lips, it feels less rewarding. Pain and blood seeping from blades will always make my balls draw tight and my cock rock hard, but now I want to be able to sink that dick in my angel.Fuck! Now I’m harder.
“Where the fuck did the van go?” Wyatt growls.
I must have been too focused on my growing erection that I missed both Wes and Sebastian’s throws and the escalation of questions.
Annoyed by Stephen’s sniffles and refusal to still answer, I pick up my blades and wheel them through the air, one immediately after the other, like I’m throwing frisbees. One makes slices through the tendon in his forearm into the wood— another in his side, and the other three line his femur.
“Answer the fucking question because the axes are next, and we’re going to spin you again for that round,” I snarl.
“I-I-I was con-contacted a mon- a mon-th ago and told to have a v-van ready and untrac-untraceable,” he finally spits out.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Wyatt says, pushing the button to spin the wheel again.
Sebastian stands, arm bent to the elbow, ax ready.
“Wait,” Wyatt shouts, halting Seb’s movements. “I think we need to speed this up. I say Seb throws the ax, but each of us should do something different until he finally spills.” He picks up the flare gun and adds, “The bet stands, though.”
We all nod in agreement, and Sebastian takes aim at the spinning wheel, his forearm extending back before snapping forward and aiming downward.
The howl that comes from the now slowing man on the wheel makes me laugh. The blade of the ax has split his kneecap wide open.
“We probably shouldn’t have made him spin. The ax could’ve easily split his skull open,” Wes announces.
