Page 31 of Property of Necro
A rumble of frustration battles in my chest as I focus on the room, on the now, not her, and sure as fuck not them.
The woman sprawled out on the plastic pops open one eye, then the other.
I approach the bed and slap her cheeks. “Wakey, wakey, whore,” I taunt.
Flinching, she groans behind the tape. Air whistles out of her nostrils as she glances around the room in a daze before her brown eyes settle on me, where they round to the size of the moon.
Rocking an evil smile, I tinkly wave at her. “Hello, Clarisa. Thanks for bein’ here today.”
She tries to talk behind the tape, but it’s useless. I don’t give a single fuck what that bitch has to say. There isn’t enough begging or pleading she can do to convince me not to hurt her. That ship sailed a long time ago, along with her conscience. That’s why I’m here. To play judge, jury, and executioner since nobody else has the balls to do it.
Not bothering with niceties, I snatch a little wooden something I made off the table that I can’t tell you about, as some things must be left up to your imagination, and I use it to my advantage.
As predicted, the bitch screams. Too bad it’s not a pretty scream. She’s definitely not enjoying my fun as tears trickle down the sides of her face. Neck arching, her head digs into the plastic-coated bed. The sound of it crumpling sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
Her chest heaves for oxygen, and she yanks on her restraints to test their strength. After a minute of feeble attempts, the hose digs deeper into her wrists and ankles. If she’s not careful, it’ll cut off her blood supply. Not that I care. It’s her choice.
Leaving her to wonder why I’m here and why this is happening, I grab another contraption from the table, and because I’m an asshole, I hold it up to show her. “I’m gonna put these on you. If you move, they’re gonna hurt more,” I lie. No matter what she does, it’s gonna hurt.
A torrent of crybaby tears pours down the sides of her reddened face and soaks into her yellow hair that fans out around her.
I feel nothing.
No sorrow.
No guilt.
My phone buzzes on the table.
Leaving her to catch her breath, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long night, I drop into the chair and connect to FaceTime.
Necro and Rot’s ugly mugs fill the screen from two different rooms. I guess we’re three-way calling tonight.
“What?” I grunt, scratching my stubbly chin.
“You weren’t supposed to leave for a month, fucker.” Rot lays into me just as I figured he would when Necro told him I left. We had a half-assed agreement before Sola showed up. He made me promise him, with a pinky like some little schoolgirl, to stay with them for a month to test things out with her, since she’sdifferent.
Whatever.
She’s a woman, ain’t she?
They’re all the damn same.
I met her.
Got a taste.
I’m done.
Pinky promises are for babies, anyhow.
Rot carries on for a goddamn lifetime, handing me my ass, but I ignore most of his bitching in favor of watching my latest catch writhe on the bed.
Yeah. I know. I’m a horrible person.
You don’t have to like me. That’s not my problem. You know where the door is.
So what if I left when I promised Rot I wouldn’t?
