Page 6 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“You’re dead. A fucking dead man, Rip. Dorian gets word of this shit, he will put your head on a fucking stake outside of his house.”

“Maybe. That won’t save you, though.”

A blurt of laughter bounces off the tiles, and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re that fucking crazy. You gotta have enough sense in that thick head to know when you’re in deep shit.”

“Believe it. I’m as batshit as a schizo in a funhouse. As for sense? I think we can both agree I haven’t got a lick of it.”

A hint of a frown flickers across his face, as if it’s suddenly dawned on him that he’s the one in deep shit. “Wasn’t my dick in her. Go snuff shithead over there.” He nudges his head left of my shoulder. “He’s her handler. He trained her. Stupid bastard’s obsessed with her. S’why she don’t listen.”

I don’t say anything—Randy’s already marked for death, I just need to deal with Enzo first.

“You killed Gina. Made it look like a suicide. And it was you who sent me those photos.”

“Now see? I told Randy you ain’t as dumb as you look. So tell me, Watson, how fuckin’ long did it take to figure that out?” When I don’t respond, he says, “I know who you are. I know all about the Agency and what you do.” He shakes his head and his lips form a tight line. “I knew you were a fucking traitor. A liar.”

“Then you know what comes next. Lucky you.”

“What’re you gonna do, huh? Torture me?” There’s a sustained level of panic in his voice that crawls over my skin, raising goose bumps as the exhilaration, the anticipation of what’s to come pulses through me. “Whatever you do to me, will be done to you tenfold. I suggest you make it quick and painless, cocksucker.”

“You know quick and painless isn’t my style. ‘Sides that, any pain I suffer in retaliation for killing you will be worth it.” I shove the cigarette back into my mouth and straighten to a stand. “So let’s get this show on the road.”

I nab my black bag behind me and pull a sawed off two by four from inside—a smaller version that fits nicely, but stretches the length of the bag. Better to use it first, so I can get to my other tools quickly. I twist it in my hands, watching his eyes track the gutter spikes I’d hammered into it, which stick out from one end. It’s one grisly-looking bastard.

Without a word, I slam the plank down on Enzo’s kneecap. His cry of pain is like the soundtrack to my favorite fucking show of all time—the one where I leave him crippled on the floor, begging me to stop.

I don’t stop.

His knees are already turning purple, well on their way to a healthy black, bloodied, torn, and one of his kneecaps is dislocated and split open. He screams until his voice fractures into a gurgle.

“I see the two of you brought your own tools. Looks like you were going to get kinky with her, huh?”

“Randy … he was … ” His words die away to panting and a forced laugh.

“He was what?” I don’t want to know what they planned to do to her, but it’s fuel. It flames my blood. I need those flames because as much as the idea of killing him excites me, I’m not stupid. Dorian will want revenge. He’ll want pain and suffering for what I’m going to do to Enzo.

“Fuck her … with pliers.” A burst of maniacal laughter cracks through his chest, as if he’s lost his mind and forgotten what we’re doing here, which I’m assuming is the cue that he’s decided to accept his fate. “Make her bleed … like a virgin.”

The rage inside of me explodes into something I’m not familiar with. Pain. Unrelenting pain that prompts me to raise the hammer and bash his shoulder, splitting his bicep open. His scream shatters my ears, and I prop the wood plank under his chin, silencing him.

“You did this,” I growl through clenched teeth. “You touched what’s mine, and you don’t fucking touch what belongs to another man. Particularly one in league with the devil, asshole.”

He breathes hard through his nose while the blood from before dries to his face. “Dorian … is … going to kill you … for … what you do … to me.”

I smile at that. “Who says Dorian’s going to recognize you when I’m finished?” Lifting the plank again, I swing wide toward his face.

* * *

Hands on my hips, I twist around, taking in the blood spattered all over the floor and the walls. Enzo is hardly recognizable, lying on the floor, his face swollen and split from the gutter spikes. His skull is crushed and mutilated with bits of flesh and bone scattered across the yellowing tiles.

I hate messy kills, but anything less just wouldn’t have been good enough. I’ll set fire to the house to eliminate the evidence and Enzo will be nothing but a memory for his brother.

I want to get Dylan out of here. She’s been passed out, asleep on the bed since I arrived, I’m guessing, based on whatever shit was pumped into her.

Moaning draws my attention to Randy, still tied to the heater. I’ll have to take him somewhere I can finish him later. Somewhere no one will find him.

I know just the place.

Stepping over garbage on the floor, I make my way to the bed and cut Dylan’s binds, setting her arms and legs free. Shrugging out of my coat, I wrap her up in it, trying to keep my shit together when I see they’ve left bruises and cuts on her. She mumbles something unintelligible as I slip my hands beneath her back and under her legs, and when I lift her into my arms, I stare down at her for a moment.