Page 5 of The Game

“Dude-dude…” he pants through puffy, wet lips. The tip of my boot grinds a little harder into his throat.

“You have thirty seconds before I start with your cock instead,da?”

“Okay, okay!” he squeals, legs thrashing against the debris-strewn pavement. My grin blooms. They always cry. It’s my favorite sound.

“Ten-ten…okay? All…all hookers, druggies—”

“Like the college student on a jog, you motherfucker? Bit out of your usual MO. And don’t pretend a woman’s life is any less valuable because of what she does.”

I cock my eyebrows, waning on philosophical, even though it is pure assholery. He’s going to die a slow, painful death, but I’ll keep telling him I’ll let him go, or kill him quickly. Another form of torture I’ve discovered I quite enjoy. Gleaned from Alice’s books, but I digress. When I find my little whore, she’ll learn her fucking lesson, no matter the damage she caused my heart.

“You-you’re right, man, I’m sorry—”

“Begging already?”

My shoulders sag at the cool tone of his voice, and my face raises to the rain as I inwardly groan and outwardly hiss, “Fuck off, Jameson.”

“No can do. We have a possible lead. Make this quick.”

Turning my shoulders, I throw him a glare.

“No.”

His jaw clenches.

“Yes.”

“Fuck off,” I say again, raising my bloodied knife. “Or I’ll gut you, too.”

“You’ve threatened me with death every day this week. To say I am not worried in the slightest is an understatement.”

Sliding my tongue over my teeth, I narrow my eyes further.

“And who’s to say I am not killing you slowly by poisoning your vodka every day,mudak?”

“You have literally no patience, Tristan.”

I shrug.

“Fair.” Turning back to my prey, I grin down at him. “Big brother wants to play, too, I think.”

“There’s…fuck…there’s two of you?” he pants. I roll my eyes.

“That would be the definition of twins, genius. Stop distracting me. You said ten. Toes or fingers first? I could care less. If I don’t hurry, this fucker over here will shove a screwdriver up your nose and turn your brains to soup.”

“Feeling more inclined to just liquify his innards at the moment, actually,” Jameson says casually behind me. I chuckle.

“See, youdoenjoy this.”

“No.”

“Turning into Maks,” I say, tossing a grin at him over my shoulder. He rolls his eyes and bunches his shoulders against the frigid breeze. After a moment, he nods down to the trembling man.

“Hurry.”

“Help me?” I pout maniacally. He deadpans but steps forward, reaching his hand out. I’m quick to supply him my extra knife. The man’s struggles increase as we kneel on his limbs, wrangling them down into submission.

“You get toes,” Jameson grumbles as the man cries and starts to scream.

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