Page 4 of Queen of Hell

"Take a good look around you,friend," I say with a sneer. "You. Are. In.My. House… My.Playroom." I punctuate each word by tapping the tip of the knife I pulled from his shoulder to the tip of his nose.

He looks around the room, I meanreallylooks around. I watch his eyes widen as he takes in the room properly for the first time. The playroom has no windows and the walls are a deep red colour. There is a metal gurney to one side with metal restraints attached to it, and not far from that is what can only be described as the metal skeleton of a barber’s chair with the same restraints attached to the arms and legs. There is a fridge against one wall with vials of poisons and sedatives inside, and cabinets and shelving containing a whole range of tools and weapons surround the rest of the room, as well as on the metal trolley where I placed my bag and phone. There are also chains dangling down from the ceiling, all with shackles or hooks attached to the end, and a drain in the floor where it slopes down slightly in the middle of the room. But my favourite thing about this room is the soundproofing. There is no way for anyone to hear what happens in here.

"This is my favourite room in the whole building, I decorated it myself," I muse, mostly to myself, not actually expecting the arsehole to say anything.

"Who the fuckareyou?" His voice trembles slightly, and the corners of my lips tip up.

"I don't think you're getting the seriousness of the situation you find yourself in," I reply smiling. I move so fast he doesn't have time to register what I'm doing before his bicep is sliced open by the knife in my hand. He winces at the pain of the injury, once again sneering at me like he could kill me with his eyes alone.

"You're a fucking girl! What the fuck!" He exclaims, his face turning a mottled red in his anger. "How the fuck. Did a fucking. Tiny. Girl. Get the drop on me?" This part is spoken more to himself than me, but I laugh anyway like we're sharing some kind of inside joke.

"Well, that's because I'm not justanygirl. Why were you following me?"

He doesn't answer me so I reach up with the knife and slowly slice down his other bicep, smiling as I watch the blood run down his arm.

"Look, Fuckwad," I say to him. "Ireallydon't have time to play with you for long. I've got a long drive in the morning andyou," I poke the knife into his chest just enough for a bead of blood to form, "are now eating into my beauty sleep after ruining my fucking night." I shake my head as he kneels looking at me. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, seeing as you're not getting out of here anyway," I pause, you know, just to add a bit more tension, and lean forward to whisper in his ear. "I'm the Queen of Hell, arsehole."

I lean back and watch him as he realizes just how totally fucked he is. His eyes widen and his face pales at my admission.

"N-No. You can't be, you're just a girl," his eyes swivel between mine, trying to look for the lie in my words that he'll never find. Imaybe a vicious killer, and some may call me insane, but Ineverlie.

Reality starts to sink in as he sees the truth that's in my eyes. "No. No no no, you can't be," he repeats it over and over again, like just saying it enough will make it true.

"They never told us! We didn't know, I swear, we never would have taken the job!" His voice is raised in panic as he continues, maybe thinking it will save his life if he tells me all he knows now that he knows exactly who I am. "We were sent a picture with a name and instructions to follow you. We were told to grab and sedate you until we received further instructions. I swear, we were never told we were going after the Queen of Hell! Who the fuck would be crazy enough to come after you?"

What the fuck?I mean, Ihadthought it myself, but I definitely never would have believed it had I not heard him say it. Who the fuck would send people after me without letting them know what they were up against? But who would go after the quiet nerd I portray in my everyday life? Andwhy?

"Who sent you?" I ask him once more.

"I don't know who it was. It was all done via encrypted email. I swear to you, we were told we were just going after some girl. They told us it would be an easy payday."

I laugh. A full belly laugh that has me doubled over clutching my stomach and tears springing to my eyes. I raise myself upright and wipe the tears from my face. Nothing in my life had ever beeneasy.

I walk to the metal trolley and pick up my phone so I can check the time, seeing that I've got an hour and a half before Xave gets here.

"You know what?" I say as I put down my phone and pick up a new knife, this one smaller than the last but no less lethal. "Iactuallybelieve you."

He looks at me with relief at the statement, like the fact I believe what he's told me means I'll let him go.

"However," I continue, "you went after what you thought was an innocent girl who wouldn't be able to defend herself." I start to walk back to him spinning the knife in my hand like a gymnast twirling a baton. "You were going to just grab a girl off the street and deliver her to someone whoobviouslyhas very bad intentions, andthatis something I just can't forgive," I walk behind him and lean down to whisper in his ear. "Welcome to hell,friend. I haven't got long to play, so let's get started, shall we?"

I smell the acrid stench of piss and lean forward to look down his front. Yep,thereit is. The tell-tale sign down the front of his jeans showing me that he just pissed himself at the words that seal his fate. I stab down straight into the top of his right shoulder relishing in the scream that makes its way out of his mouth. I pull the knife from his shoulder, go back to the trolley, and pick up a shiny scalpel. Walking back to him I slice at his chest until his t-shirt is nothing but a bloody, shredded mess. Then I grab his head and stab him in the eye with it.

He screams again and I smile at him as he struggles in his chains with the scalpel protruding from his eye. I go back to the trolley again and grab another scalpel and a wicked-looking hunting knife. When I walk back over I place the knife on the chair and then grab him again and slice off both his ears, grinning wide as the blood runs down the sides of his head.

Yeah, yeah. Irealisecarving people up shouldn't make me so happy, but what can I say? It’s my happy place.

He's still alive and awake, but we both know he won't be for long. I never leave anyone alive that has seen my face. No one can find out what I look like,ever. It's theonlyway I can go about my life without constantly looking over my shoulder after everything I've done in the last few years, and everything I'll have to do in the years to come. So I always remember to live by that good old saying, ‘two can keep a secret if one of them is dead’.

He looks at me with his one functioning eye, his breathing heavy and slightly ragged. I place the scalpel on the chair and pick up the hunting knife slicing up the front of his thighs, the blood running down the front of his jeans pools around his knees. I slice at him anywhere I can, across his face, down his arms, over his chest and stomach. His screams and pleas for me to stop are like music to my ears.

I stop and look at my masterpiece. All of my carving has made him look like some kind of macabre patchwork doll. I grin, pleased with my work, but I feel like there's something missing. I tap the tip of the knife on my chin while I think, then smirk as an idea forms in my mind.

"You know, it's pretty gutless of you to go after people who can't fight back, so I'm going to make it a reality for you," I stab the knife into the left of his stomach and drag it across to the right. I pull it out and watch as his insides meet the outside and land on the floor by his knees. Then I slice the knife across his neck, blood spraying my front as it pours from the wound.

I step back watching as the life drains from his eyes and he slumps forward, only the chains holding him up now. I pick the scalpel back up to add the final touch to my patchwork doll. I carve my mark on the top of his bald head, a three-pronged pitchfork with a tail curving out from the handle, two horns on top, and a crooked crown dangling over one of the horns.

The mark is the reason my reputation has so many criminals scared to come for me. Xavier will record the scene and distribute it on the dark web, allowing others to see what happens when bad guys go after theQueen of Hell.

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