Page 26 of Bones

Getting out of the car, I walk into the casino and go talk to my business partner, Sin. I’ll view the footage before I decide how to handle the situation with one of our employees. I’m fair. My goal isn’t to hurt people that don’t deserve it. If I see proof for myself, then he’s going to regret the day he was born.

I take a seat at Sin’s desk, across from him, and he nods at me. “Bones. Good to see you.”

“How’s married life?”

He grins. “It’s good. How are things?”

I shrug, and he spots my ring. “What the hell is that?”

With a chuckle, I say, “I got married.”

Sin flashes me a confused look, and I’m not surprised. Anybody who knows me would have bet money that I’d never settle down.

“Long story, but my father is sick. This was his requirement in order for me to take over the family business.”

He frowns slightly. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

We have known each other since we were kids and he knows me well. It’s good to be in business with someone that picks up on your cues. Picking up the remote for his security camera, he presses play, and I watch the footage on the tv mounted on the wall. I’ve already been informed by our experts that this person was card counting. However, if he’s an employee, it escalates things. On top of that, I’m told that he’s fucking one of our cashiers, and she randomly slips him cash, as well as chips. There is no getting away with that. Of course, there are cameras everywhere. On top of that, when you win money, a video is watched to be sure you actually won. And if money goes missing, there is always evidence.

He didn’t attempt to conceal his identity well, so it’s easy to know it was him.

“I assume he’s at the warehouse?”

Sin nods. “Yes, he’s ready for you.”

We never physically deal with problems in the casino, because it puts Sin at risk. If the feds ever came in and searched, it would mostcertainly raise questions we don’t want to answer. I rise from my seat and he asks, “Did she marry you willingly?”

I turn to him and tell him honestly, “Don’t ask questions if you aren’t prepared to hear the answer.”

Holding his hands up, he says, “Fair enough.”

He lives in a consensual world. Everything is safe words and bullshit. We are not the same and he knows I won’t lie about it. I don’t lie about anything. I live my life unapologetically. I always have and I always will.

I stand in front of my thief, and smile at the thought of how I dealt with my last thief. My pretty Butterfly. He won’t be as lucky as her.

“Michael Watson, we have a bit of a problem. By we, I meanyouhave a fucking problem.”

This room, which my employees call The Bone Room, is set up with everything I need. We have knives and other weapons here, but my favorite is a simple vise. There’s a metal table off to the side, a rather uncomfortable gray metal folding chair in the middle of the room, with another metal table beside it with a blue vise sitting on top of it. Currently, Michael sits on the chair with an arm in each vise, ready for me, but they’re open. Nobody does this other than me. I’ve been told that it’s sick. I guess it’s a family trait. Myself and my brothers all have special interests. I don’t break bones for the hell of it. There’s always a reason, but I can’t say I hate it.

The satisfying crunch of bones. The spine chilling screams. The bone piercing through the skin. It’s all fucking mesmerizing.

I wouldn’t say it gets me off necessarily, but it does bring me pleasure. Every bone I have ever broken has belonged to someone that has wronged me in some way. If you hurt someone I care about, I consider it as a personal attack.

Glancing down at a trembling Michael, I smile at him. “Stealing from me sounded like a good idea?”

He sits in his dark blue work polo and khaki pants, and of course I don’t miss the fact that he soils himself, as he trembles in the chair.

I shake my head at him. “This all could’ve been avoided, Michael. Had you not broken the rules and stolen from me, you would not be here.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers pathetically, causing me to chuckle. Of course, he’s sorry, because they always are when they end up in his position.

“Let’s get started then. I’ll warn you, this might sting a bit.”

I walk over to the table holding his right arm, and turn the handle slowly for the added suspense. He watches as the screw pushes the jaw plates closer. There’s a plate on either side of his arms that will eventually crush them. This is a slow and painful way to go. Sometimes, I get bored and have to end their lives in other ways. However, I’m currently kind of pissed. He took me away from my beautiful wife and now she hates me, all because I had to come deal with his shit. There is no doubt, when I get home, I’ll have to deal with her angry behavior. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I’d much prefer to be at home and inside her, than to be dealing with this prick. The plates move closer and his breathing becomes erratic, so I stop for a moment. “Relax, Michael. It’s not even doing anything yet.”

The goal is most definitely not for this fucker to pass out, and not feel pain. His eyes widen when I turn the handle again, the plates less than a inch from his arm, and he cries, “I’ll give you my house. Anything.”

Chuckling, I tell him the truth, “If you saw my house, you’d realize how little I’m interested in your two-bedroom bungalow.”

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