Page 27 of Doomed
“Should’ve thought about the consequences before stealing from us.” I circle Mikey, letting the bat drag behind me. “If you needed money, you should’ve come to us. Xavier would’ve worked something out. He’s reasonable like that.”
“Very diplomatic, our eldest brother,” Vane agrees, his smile turning predatory. “Always trying to solve problems with words and arrangements.”
“But that’s not us, is it?” I grip the bat tighter, feeling that familiar surge of anticipation. “When Xavier talks abouthandling a situation, he means entering into negotiations.”
“When we say it,” Vane’s eyes glitter with dark excitement, “we mean this.”
Vane lunges forward without warning, his hand a blur as he whips out the hunting knife he always keeps strapped to his ankle. Metal flashes under the harsh fluorescent lights before disappearing into Mikey’s thigh with a sickeningthunk.
Mikey’s scream echoes off the concrete walls as blood seeps from the wound, then over the edge of the chair, creating a puddle on the floor where Vane’s shoe becomes a secondary casualty of Mikey’s poor decision. The metallic scent fills the room instantly, sharp and pungent.
“Jesus, Vane!” I laugh, not bothered by the blood, but amused at my brother’s impatience. “Could’ve given me first swing.”
Vane yanks the blade out with a twist, causing the blood flow to quicken. “You were taking too long with your dramatic bat routine.”
Mikey’s sobbing now, pleading incoherently through his tears as blood pumps steadily from his thigh. The sight only heightens my earlier irritation. All that pent-up frustration from being interrupted while with Bianca surges through me.
“My turn.”
I position myself in front of Mikey, baseball bat held high. His fingers grip the chair arms, knuckles white with terror. Perfect targets.
“Please—” he starts.
The bat comes down with a satisfying crack across his right hand. Bone gives way under wood, fingers shattering like twigs. Mikey’s scream rises an octave higher, his body instinctively jerking against the restraints.
I don’t wait for him to catch his breath before swinging again, connecting with his left hand. The bat bounces slightly on impact, vibrations traveling up my arms. His pinky finger bends at an impossible angle.
“Fuck!” Mikey wails, vomit dribbling down his chin. “I’ll pay it back! Please!”
“Pay it back?” I laugh, swinging the bat in a lazy figure eight. “You hear that, Vane? He thinks there’s a payment plan for betrayal.”
“Adorable,” Vane says, wiping his blade on Mikey’s shoulder. “Maybe we should start a Blackwood Brothers Credit Union. Reasonable interest rates, flexible repayment options.”
“And if you miss a payment—” I bring the bat down on Mikey’s kneecap with a sickening crunch. His scream bounces off the concrete walls, nearly drowning out my words. “—we take it out in body parts.”
Mikey slumps forward, sobbing and mumbling incoherently. Blood pools beneath the chair, spreading in a lazy crimson circle.
“You know what I hate most?” I crouch down, bringing my face level with his. I press the end of my bat under his chin, forcing his head up, so he has no choice but to meet my eyes. “When people think we’re reasonable. That we’ll just let shit slide because they have a sad story, which I know for a fact in your case is bullshit. You don’t have a fucking kid, so add lying to the list.”
Vane circles behind him, dragging the tip of his knife across Mikey’s shoulders. “Everyone’s got a sad story. Our mother died when we were kids. We ended up in foster care. You don’t see us crying about it.”
We both laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. Mikey’s eyes dart between us, finally understanding there’s no way out of this room.
“Please,” he whispers, blood bubbling between his lips. “I have money saved?—”
“Listen to me very carefully,” I interrupt, tapping the bat against his shattered knee. The whimper that escapes him is music to my ears. “Nobody steals from the Blackwoods and lives to spend their retirement fund. That’s not how this works.”
“It would set a bad precedent,” Vane adds conversationally, like we’re discussing business over coffee. “And besides—” his knife flashes again, slicing across Mikey’s ear, nearly severing it “—where’s the fun in that?”
I swing the bat one more time, connecting with Mikey’s shoulder. The crack of bone is satisfying, but I’m starting to get bored. The rush is wearing off, and watching him blubber is getting old.
“End it, Vane.” I rest the bat against the wall, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Use your knife. It’s probably easier than waiting for me to bash his brains in. I want to grab a drink after this.”
Vane twirls his blade between his fingers, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “Quick and clean, or slow?”
“Dealer’s choice.” I check my watch. “Just make it interesting. I’ve got time for one more show before happy hour ends at Purgatory.”
“Throat or heart?” Vane asks, circling Mikey like a shark scenting blood. “Heart’s cleaner, less spray radius.”
