Page 66 of Marked

“Fuck,” he moans.

“Fuck indeed,” I laugh. “So, you realize now there’s no happy ending here for you, right?”

He turns his gaze to me. “You took out Arthur?”

“Dustin too,” I add.

“Fuck, man. It was years ago. And it was Jimmy.”

“It was you, too.” Harley straddles him in the chair, sitting on his lap. “You were there. You came in, you wanted to play. Don’t you remember? You dragged me out of the room and put me in an office. You tied my hands behind my back, and you tied my ankles to the legs of the desk. You bent me over the desk, don’t you remember?” She slaps him hard across the face.

“I wasn’t wearing any clothes at that point; you’d already taken them from me.” She slaps him harder, his head snaps.

“Don’t you remember your little game?” She leans back, putting pressure on his wounded leg, making him cry out.

“I remember! Get off!” His bindings won’t let him off the chair, and his muscles are too weak still to do much other than jerk.

“What was the game?” She scoots back more on his lap, and he howls. Blood soaks into his jeans, into her skirt.

“You might want to answer her, Vince.” I hand her a knife, it’s smaller than mine, and I was planning to give it to her later as a little present, but she’s in need of it now.

“It was so fucking long ago,” he wails.

She brings the knife up to his face. “What was the game, Vince?” She pushes the very tip of the knife against his neck until a small bead of blood forms.

“We don’t want him dead yet, little bird,” I remind her.

“I know how deep to cut before there’s a problem,” she says sweetly, pushing a tiny bit more.

He winces, finally sensing the danger.

“Hide the salami,” he says with as much regret a grown man can show at such speaking such a juvenile phrase.

“That’s right. You hid the salami, didn’t you?” She drags the knife down his neck, cutting just deep enough to make him bleed, but not near any major arteries.

He hisses, tries to twist away from her, but she’s in the zone.

She slices another bit and then another. Until his neck is drenched in his own blood.

When she’s finished, she hops off his lap and stands next to me. Her hand drips his blood, and there’s a small smattering of it on her cheek.

“I’m done playing now.” She moves to hand me the knife back.

“It’s yours.”

“Good. I like it.” She smiles and wipes the blade clean with her skirt. “Thanks.”

“Just fucking kill me if you’re gonna do it,” Vince yells.He’s getting enough strength back that he actually got some bass behind his demand.

“Not yet.” I drop my shoulders. “If you’re really good and answer us, I won’t make you suffer.”

“Too much,” Harley adds. “He needs to suffer some.”

“Of course he does, little bird,” I agree.

“Did my mother take money from Jimmy?” she questions.

“She was the one paid, but she didn’t make the deal.”

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