Page 109 of The Games We Play
I step on his hand with one foot, kicking the base of his joint with the other, completely dislocating it.
It’s a gut-wrenching, piercing scream that follows.
“Fuck you and that fucking whore,” he manages to spit out before he pushes back on his haunches, leaning into himself.
Before he can hide, I grab his right hand and hold it in place on the edge of the bench, slamming my hand down over the top. There is the distinct cracking of tendons tearing and cartilage breaking as it bends backwards, that sounds a little bit like my new favorite harmony.
A mix of screams and begging cycle through the room and I bask in the soundtrack that I wish I could record for Mimi.
Blood drips from the cuts on his wrists, but the worst of it is misting from his mouth through the uncontrollable whining. I look down, inspecting my feet. He’s making a fucking mess all over my shoes.
Grabbing the back of his neck, I yank him back on his feet and drag him in front of the toilet.
“You’re making a mess and I don’t appreciate it. Let’s clean you up, shall we?”
Glancing in, it’s not pleasant. It’s stainless steel, with brown and white water marks, and I can’t be sure the last time it was thoroughly cleaned. It even has some waterlogged toilet paper floating at the top, because whoever used it last didn't get it to flush all the way.
Darn.
“No, no…don’t—” he words are drowned out by the sounds of bubbles as I press his face hard into the metal bowl.
“Oof, gross.” Whitlock screws up his face and he looks away.
Pulling Nathan up, I lean down, whispering in his ear, “This is exactly how Mimi felt. Helpless. Disgusted. Violated.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I slam his face back down, the metal bowl clanging as his forehead bangs against it. The water slushes around us, a mix of blood, watered down urine, and whatever else might still be residing in it splashes on the floor.
Holding his limp wrists behind his back, I step over him,pushing more of my weight into the back of his skull. His feet slip from underneath me, and a gasp then gurgles follow when I act like I’m going to give him a chance to breathe, but slam his face back down instead.
A loud wail and muffled howl echo in the bowl as his body jerks, once-twice, then goes completely limp.
Releasing my grip, I stand, rolling my neck from side-to-side. Lifting my leg, I step over Nathan’s contorted body and make my way toward Whitlock.
Miller stands next to him sucking on the traditional, celebratory lollipop. He tilts his head to peek behind me, the white stick hanging out the side of his mouth, and he’s completely unamused by the lifeless body that halfway hangs out of the dirty toilet.
“Did you bring me a lollipop?” I ask.
“I had it ready before you even started,” he replies as he hands me a red one. I quickly tear off the plastic and pop it in my mouth.
“Did you bring me a lollipop, too?" Whitlock asks, as he turns to him.
“Do you think I have an endless supply?” He arches a brow as he peers over at him.
“Seriously?” Whitlock looks between us both as we thoroughly enjoy our traditional post-op treat.
Miller sensually hums as he licks the lollipop, glancing over at him. Whitlock rolls his eyes, frowning.
“Jesus, do you always whine this much?” Miller grabs a handful of multi-colored lollipops out of his front vest pocket, handing him a green one.
He snatches the lollipop out of Miller’s grasp, pulls the plastic covering off, then shoves the candy stick in his mouth, mumbling, “I just wanted a fucking lollipop.”
Shaking my head with a smirk, I turn and take one last look at the first man I killed by choice. The one I actively soughtafter, for revenge, for my own personal justice…for Mimi. I can’t justify this being an order or a job, but it feels the same. Like it had to be done. Because some people can’t be trusted to live in this world.
“Alright, let’s get the hell out of—” I’m interrupted as a man's thundering voice barrels through the room, matching the sounds of his urgent footsteps.
“Whatthe fuckis going on back here?”
47
NAOMI
