Shoving the pole in, I lose myself as I rearrange Brad’s insides, over and over, destroying him. By the time I finish, there’s dark blood all over the snow, tears on my cheeks that I don’t remember crying, and I’m gasping for air.
“You did so good,” Izzy croons, tossing aside the pole to take me to some clean snow to wash up.
“Is he still alive?” I ask, sniffling as I scrub my hands. I don’t know when I lost my mittens, but my hands are bare now.
Kyren and Harlan flip Brad onto his back, and I hear him groan lightly.
My hands slightly cleaner, I stand and watch Brad as Izzy also cleans up. Harlan isn’t as bloody, but as he pulls a knife from his pocket, I realize this will likely change quickly.
“Let’s make sure you won’t be able to move anymore,” Harlan mutters. “Want to help, baby?”
Nodding, I take my ice pick out of my boot pocket, and Harlan holds Brad’s hands over his head, his wrists crossed. Throwing my body weight into my stabbing motion, I scream as I sink the pick through Brad’s wrists and deep into this freezing pocket of snow.
Taking his time, Harlan has a lot of fun cutting every tendon that makes Brad’s limbs move, including severing several of his vertebrae. Brad couldn’t even crawl now if he wanted to. He’s the perfect puppet though.
Brad’s body is so broken, all he can do is twitch.
“Much better. I hope you like the taste of your own dick,” Harlan says. Even now, he’s wearing a smile on his lips, thoroughly enjoying his work.
“Do you have anything to say, I wonder?” Kyren asks, pulling out the gag.
“Please. Please, kill me!” he cries. “I can’t take anymore.”
Moving over to Brad, I grind my foot into his throat.
“You were going to rape me to get ahead, giving me to your little corporate buddies,” I murmur.
Our comms are in our pockets now, since we no longer have any need for them. My pack still grimaces as they remember hearing his words.
“I think you need to be a good boy and take your punishment,” I say, giving him a bright, fake smile.
So many times I was told to be “good” and “quiet” while I lived with the Fieldings. There was no reward for it other than pain and suffering. He deserves no better.
“Go ahead,” I tell Harlan, glancing over at him. “He won’t miss it.”
Snickering, he says, “Off with his little head,” before cutting the tip off.
I don’t even know if Brad can feel it with so much pain flooding his body, but Kyren holds out his gloved hand to catch each piece.
“Eat your vegetables,” Kyren says viciously as I step back.
Harlan and Kyren force him to chew and swallow his own dick in various pieces. When it seems as if he’s going to puke, they shove his mouth shut and pinch his nose so he’ll swallow it back now.
“Anything else you need?” Kyren asks, pulling out a chainsaw.
“I’m good,” I decide, blowing out a breath.
Nodding, Harlan pulls out plastic sheeting before lifting Brad onto it like a slab of meat.
“No! Please!” he screams, but I choose to ignore it.
Rolling his eyes, Izzy cuts out his tongue so Brad can no longer speak. It’s all gurgling and choking, a strangely soothing sound.
Syrus pulls me from the projected blood spray, and we watch as Kyren, Izzy, and Harlan go to town on Brad. The screams settle my anger and trauma after everything I’ve felt, and Syrus holds me close.
The guys start out at Brad’s outer limbs, allowing him to die of his injuries before breaking up the rest of his body.
“They’re going to be busy for a little while,” Syrus murmurs in my ear. The light has left Brad’s body, and I can see that he’s well and truly dead. “Let’s go get warm.”
