Page 60 of Half the Summer's Night
So I act. I slam forward and hook my arm around my victim’s neck and slap my free hand over his mouth. He makes a muffledhmmphsound and tries to kick out of my grasp, but his movements are sloppy and lazy from the alcohol he clearly drank earlier. And the other drugs, too. I’m not sure what, but I swear I can feel them pulsing through his system.
I brace my arm around his throat, squeezing with all my strength. He wants to fight, but I’m much, much stronger than him, fat ass or not. I swing him around and heave him onto the bed, pressing my body against his back so his face is pressed down in the mattress and he can't scream for help.
I squeeze his neck, tighter and tighter like a boa constrictor, until he finally passes out. The other one is still in the bathroom, still singing drunkenly.
I sling my victim over my shoulder and stalk out of the condo. I move like a shark—constant and unthinking. If I stop, I’ll get wrapped up in my thoughts and risk getting caught by the other one, and I’ll have to drag both of them into my car.
This way is easier.
I carry my victim out into the pitch black parking lot. I throw him in the trunk. Get in behind the wheel. Peel away. The whole thing takes less than ten minutes.
It’s less than ten minutes to get to Neptune’s Adventure, too. I pull up to the front gate and climb out of my car and breathe in the damp, salty wind. The place looks untouched, but I know the truth: Snapped wires on the cameras and broken streetlights that will hide me as I go about my business. The missing activation key for the pirate ship, which is currently in my pocket after I filched it when the bored teenager wasn’t paying attention.
Thumps come from inside my trunk, soft and confused. My victim is stirring, waking up, but he’s not all the way there yet. No matter. I can handle it either way.
I’m ready for him when I lift the cover. He sits up and opens his mouth to scream, but I slap my hand over his mouth and jerk him out so I can loop my arm around his throat again. He passes out even faster this time.
I dig out my crowbar and cart him up to the entrance gate with the same fireman’s carry I used to get him to my car. He’s not so heavy, even with all his sleek, cultivated muscles.
It’s easy work breaking the lock on the gate and getting him inside. I go straight for the pirate ship, all the animatronics still for the night. They won’t be for long, though.
I heave him up the stairs and drop him on the deck. This afternoon, when Abi was trying desperately not to let his jeering get to her, I studied the structure to keep myself focused. And I saw the latch that opens up the innards of the pirate ship.
I pry it open now, using the hooked end of the crowbar. When I see the tangle of gears and wires and metal rods inside, my cock jolts.
This is going to be the perfect gift for my Abi. Even if I can’t let herknowit’s a gift. Can’t let her link me and Rowan Hanover.
The idea makes me sad. But I don’t have time to be sad. Not tonight.
I turn back over to my victim. He’s stirring again, moaning a little, dropping his head from side to side. I grab him by the ankle and pull him across the deck. He groans in protest.
“Ethan,” he mutters, which I suppose is the name of his friend. “Ethan, what the fuck is this, man? Why do you keep…”
The words dissolve into nonsense. I loop one of the ship’s ropes around his ankle to hold him in place while setting the scene that this was all just a drunken, stupid accident.
“The fuck?” he mutters, shifting around more earnestly. He kicks at the rope in confusion, then twists around, whipping his gaze back and forth. “What the fuck? Where the?—”
His eyes finally settle on me.
For a moment, all he does is stare up at me, and I savor the quick flicker of emotions across his face. Confusion, fear, adrenaline. They’re all softened by the drugs and alcohol in his system, and he squints at me, like he’s trying to convince himself I’m real.
“Who the fuck are you?” he finally spits out, belligerent.
When I knot the rope off, I see him make the connection. He kicks again, more furious this time. “What the fuck?” he shrieks. “What are you doing? Why am I?—“
He looks up at the ship mast, the pirate flag fluttering in the night wind.
“What are you doing?” he whimpers, his voice small and terrified. “Why is this happening?”
I consider telling him. But I never talk to my victims, just like I don’t talk to any of the other pieces of my scenes. This man may have dimmed the bright, sparkling light in Abi’s eyes, but he’s not a man anymore. He’s an object, same as that rope or the metal gears that are going to grind him into meal.
I step over to him, my boots heavy against the pirate ship. My victim tries to squirm away from me, but I lash out and jerk him over to the gaping entrance to the ship’s innards.
“I’ll pay you, man!” he shouts, trying to fight against me, his muscles tensing beneath my hands. “I’ve got money! How much do you want?”
I drop his arm and grab him by the back of the head and slam his forehead down on the ship deck, right next to the open hatch. It’s not enough to knock him out, but it is enough to surge him with adrenaline, and he starts trying to fight me in earnest, even as blood pours over his forehead. He swings his arms, kicks against the rope. I manage to keep my grip, although it’s a reminder that I need to finish this up.
“Let me go, you Halloween-ass motherfucker!” He swings a punch at me, but I catch his fist. He stares at me, eyes wide with fear.
