Page 97 of Ruining Vanessa

I give an exaggerated sigh and start going down the stairs. “Guess we’ll just have to take him bare. When’s the last time you got tested, Johnny?”

“Eh, it’s been a few months,” Slayer says dismissively. “Been pretty active since then, though, so no guarantees I won’t pass anything on… but Brad here won’t complain, will you now?”

Brad finally tries to shout, “Help!” but Slayer puts his gloved hand over Brad’s mouth.

“Shh. You’ll wake the neighbors, and wouldn’t that just be rude?” Slayer mocks him as he pulls him along down the stairs with us.

Wake the neighbors, at this very late hour of 7 p.m. I snort in amusement. Once Slayer’s got Brad down to the basement—and much less likely to alert anybody next door—I open up the duffel bag and pull out the large tarp.

You should get some make-up tips from Michelle, I bet she could make your face look glamorous.

“Did you clean this properly?” I ask Slayer as I spread it out on the concrete floor. “I think I still see some blood stains on it.”

Brad’s eyes are wide with fright, and Slayer has his upper arm in a firm grip to keep him from trying to run now. “W-what? What the fuck are you guys doing? I don’t know who you are.”

“Is this the part where we do the cliched, but we know who you are?” Slayer asks with a laugh as he shoves Brad down onto the tarp on the hard floor. “Because we do.”

I push my foot down on Brad’s back before he can get up. He still tries to flop around a little, but I’ve got a lot of practice with this kind of stuff, and Brad’s been skipping arm and leg day.

It’s better when I don’t have to see his face, at least.

Here’s some sex tips vids. Might help you not be a starfish in bed.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, Brad,” I say. “We’re gonna play a little game. If you do a very, very good job, we might only hurt you a little bit. If you don’t… Well, my buddy Johnny is really, really good with a knife.” I pause a little for effect. “And I’m less good with a knife. Unsteady hands and all. Just end up cutting all over the place. Somebody might lose a finger, if I have to wield sharp objects.”

“Yeah, Sammy’s really shitty with a knife,” Slayer agrees. “You should’ve seen the last time. He was trying to cut a straight line and ended up… Well. I don’t want to upset your poor little tummy by giving you details.”

Brad whimpers pathetically, and I roll my eyes. We haven’t even really done anything to him yet. I put more of my weight on his back. “You understand? Oink like a piggy if you do.”

He twists his head, trying to look at me—like he thinks I’m not being serious or some shit. He doesn’t make a sound.

“Well?” I demand, already getting impatient. “You know what I want. You need to know what’s at stake?”

“We’ve got a lot of weapons to use on you, Brad,” Slayer says. “Knives, cocks, some rope… I think we can figure out some more creative things, too. I always do love pushing the limits.”

“Why are you doing this?” Brad wheezes out. “Who are you?”

Fucking slut bitch, you think you’re too good for me now? You’re ghosting me after all the good times I showed you?

I sigh heavily. “Sometimes, you piss off the wrong people, Braddy-boy. Sometimes, you have rich parents who piss off even worse people. You think your father’s shady dealings have gone unnoticed? Real estate mogul my ass.”

I’d done a quick search on his parents after Slayer had shown me exactly what we were up to. I’m mostly talking out my ass, but I do know the type. Real estate is a pretty corrupt business, in its own way. Bribery and connections and kicking people from their homes to buy up land.

Really, it’d be more of a surprise if his daddy was a completely upstanding citizen.

“Now, I think Sammy here told you to oink like a piggy,” Slayer says, nudging Brad’s side with his foot. “I’m being really gentle here, but if you don’t do what he wants… Well, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t try to motivate you to do this one simple thing for him?”

I know Slayer couldn’t care less if Brad debases himself, but I always appreciate his willingness to go along with what I want in the moment. It’s one of the reasons we get along so well.

Brad whimpers, then lets out a pathetic excuse for an oinking sound.

Slayer glances at me. “What do you think, Sammy?”

“I think, if this is the best Braddy can do, we might as well just slaughter him.”

Slayer hums. “Yeah, maybe so. Oh well.”

“Wait!” Brad says, struggling to sit up and fighting against me. “I’ll do… I’ll do better. Don’t hurt me.”

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