“You deserve to have everything that happened to us, happen to you,” Winter adds.
“Do I need to put in a request for dildos?” Silas asks curiously.
“We can put spikes in them,” Easton adds.
Lyle sighs, and leans into the conversation. “I won’t tell you why I have this, but you know the spike strips for the road? We could wrap that around the dildo.”
Cassidy gives him a winning grin that makes him flush, and he walks out quickly to ensure it happens.
“Your smiles should come with a warning label,” Silas mutters.
Shiloh bursts out laughing at his words, shrugging. “She’s had me wrapped around her finger since I was maybe six years old, Silas. Cass doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”
“What did I do?” she asks, winking. Picking up a hatchet, she sighs wistfully as she gazes at it.
Her ribs and stitches have to be seriously pissing her off. Why aren’t there accommodations to kill people? They exist everywhere else.
It’s rude if you ask me. Oh well, I’ll have to make it up as I go.
“How far up can you raise your arm before it hurts?” I ask her.
“Here,” she admits, raising her hand to her elbow. “Things start to pull after that.”
“Try the nail gun,” I suggest, handing it to her. “Go for his face and angle up.”
“I can drop him down,” Silas suggests as Lyle comes back in.
“What’s up?” Lyle asks. “Also, what does it say about us that I asked one of our men to pick up the biggest dildos he could, and he didn’t blink?”
“It means that they know us,” Easton laughs.
Shrugging, Lyle agrees as he puts down the spike strips. I can easily cut and wrap them around the dildos. Fuck yes, that’ll be fun.
“I’m going to lower the hook so that Cass doesn’t have to raise her arms too high,” Silas says, answering Lyle’s original question.
“Ohh. He shouldn’t be able to kick with broken knees. It’ll be safe to lower him,” Lyle agrees.
Picking up a remote control, Silas hits a button so that he can lower Winchell. No one has a set up like this if they’re not regularly torturing people, but that’s none of my business.
“That’s good. Thank you,” Cassidy says sweetly.
Clara screams as Bellamy shoves the heel into her cunt, pushing it in until he has to remove his hand or end up with his fingers inside of her.
“Gloves,” I remind him, pulling a pair of gloves from the table.
We haven’t gotten bloody enough for me to pull out the plastic over clothes yet. Umm, just kidding.
Bellamy is looking at a set of knives, so I find the bag that was brought ahead of us and pull out a long plastic covering for his clothes. It reminds me of a robe or a raincoat, only for blood.
Helping Bellamy into the plastic covering and securing it, I watch as he pulls on the gloves and then starts to test how sharp they are on Clara’s skin. His cuts are precise, and that makes sense to me since he’s an artist.
Cassidy begins to fire off nails into Winchell’s obese body, watching as it sinks into his stomach and chest. Abbott was nice enough to strip the bastard for her, and her aim is impeccable. The nails are met with gritted pain, and Cassidy pouts when it’s not enough.
“Oh no. Whatever can we do to make him scream?” Shiloh asks, picking up a knife with a sadistic smile. “Go for the eyes, Precious.”
“It’s scarier when you don’t know what’s going to happen next,” Winter confirms in a creepy, detached voice.
Cassidy winces slightly, but knowing Winter, she didn’t mean anything by it. Adjusting her aim, Cassidy aims for Winchell’seyes. The old man screams in horror, turning his face so the nails sink into his cheeks, neck, anywhere but his eyes.
