Page 102 of Bake the Town Red

I’m no stranger to taller, burlier men. Ones who put up a fight. This one’s skinny and was easy to subdue, sure. The pedo dropped in a heartbeat when I beat him over the head with a baking tray.

My bandaged hand complicated the rest. I thought it was a challenge to bake with those on. Ha. Tying up a person like that is the true struggle.

Other than the bandages, I had the chastity belt to distract me. With every move I made, I thought about Tyler. Craved Tyler. Was distracted by Tyler.

That man.

At least I removed the bandage on my neck. If I’d kept those, it’d have been hot and scratchy on top of everything else. Satan knows I didn’t need the extra struggle.

But alas, I got the job done without the pedo waking up on me. And I had Tyler on my mind. Still do.

Win-win.

Oh, look who’s up.

“Let me go.” Serves him right, lying bound and helpless on his back on top of my black tarp. “It hurts.”

“Of course it hurts, silly. It’s supposed to be painful. What’s the worst of it, though? Inquiring minds want to know.” This isn’t taunting him. This is research. “Leaning all your weight on your arms or the duct tape around your ankles? The tray I slammed on your head? The other stuff I did? Be honest, and specific if possible. Here in Sweet DeNights, we value your feedback.”

Boring brown eyes—not dark ones, like my Tyler’s—cut to mine. Ari has been gazing at the ceiling up until now. Mumbling his prayers to his god. The god of pedophiles, probably.

Not anymore. I guess after fifteen minutes of being tortured by yours truly, he’s come to the realization they all do. There’s no god here. Only me.

Me, and the new addition of baby spiders that hatched on the ceiling this morning.

“Are you for real?” he grits, fighting against his restraints.

He’s not answering my question, so I ignore his. My gaze trails up to the corner of the room where tiny baby spiders rummage around.

“Feels so wholesome, doesn’t it?” I’m back to looking down at the bald, molesting fucker. “One life ends, and thirty more start.”

“Are you insane?” The accusation is nothing but a weak breath.

“What did you just say to me?” I tilt my head, my voice derisive.

Ridiculing people is mean. That’s why I only make fun of the bad ones. The ones I maim and fuck over.

“Insane.”

His eyes roll to the back of his head, too overcome by the pain of being bound.

Or maybe it’s the shots I gave him that could’ve caused this?

“Aww, such a crappy word choice.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip that Tyler sucked on yesterday. My hand—the one that doesn’t wield the syringe—is drawn to my neck. To Tyler’s bite marks. “It’s okay. I get it. Your brain must be a mess. Kinda difficult to think straight when you’ve had five shots of liquid sugar shot into your stomach, arms, and cheeks.”

His insulin levels must be borderline lethal. I’m sure he’d seize in the next five minutes, if I’m being generous.

But not before I’ve had my version of justice. Not before I tell him exactly why he’s here and why I’m the one sending him to hell.

“And you could be right. I might be insane.” The needle of my newly filled syringe hovers over his shriveled cock. “Most days.”

He’s done deplorable things with this…penis. Rubbed it to videos that should’ve never, ever been created in the first place. Had it hard next to kids who came to buy cupcakes at Sweet DeNights.

Fucker.

“Today isn’t one of those days.” I squeeze a small portion of liquid sugar on top of Ari’s dick, and he screams. “I’m not crazy for trapping you here. I’m punishing you, and trust that I’m one hundred percent sane for that.”

“The shots.” His mumbled words are spoken past dried lips. “Y-You asked w-what’s the worst part. The sh-sh-shots.”

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