Page 92 of Riff

The fire that had already been blazing through me overtook me completely as I stared at the monster from Vienna’s nightmares.

Well, it was time for someone to fucking slay him, wasn’t it?

I didn’t have any weapons on me.

But I had my fists.

And a lot of fucking hard surfaces in this van.

I thanked the, hopefully dead, driver for blasting the music, because the man’s mouth opened over and over as I struck him, likely crying out in pain.

Good.

I wanted him to hurt.

I wanted him to know what it was like when someone took his control away, when he was made to feel powerless, when he was the fucking victim.

He fell backward with one particularly hard strike that I felt all the way up my arm, making my shoulder ache.

Reaching down, I grabbed his legs, pulling him off of the soft surface of the mattress.

As soon as his head was on the hard floor again, I came over him, trapping him with my legs, then reaching down to grab the sides of his head with both of my hands.

I yanked up.

Watched the horror on his face.

And felt my fucking lips curve up at it.

His mouth opened.

Maybe begging for mercy, I couldn’t hear.

But he would get none.

Because he’d shown none to Vienna.

I slammed down.

Once, watching the light flicker in his eyes like it had for the driver.

But, no, it couldn’t be that fast.

I held him aloft, pressing my weight down when he tried to struggle away.

I wanted him to choke on his fucking fear.

I wanted him to feel the sensation of not being able to get away.

It was the closest thing I could give him to a shackle on his leg.

Only after his lip started trembling and his eyes started to flood, knowing for sure that this was his end, and why, I slammed him down again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

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