Page 525 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Who… you?” I said, heavy lids slow blinking at him as he moved toward me.
He was a big man.
Not in the strong, sturdy way that Bear was, a man who had legs of tree trunks and arms strong enough to fight off all my demons, and just the tiniest bit of squish in the tummy that made him extra fun to snuggle.
No, this president was pot-bellied from beer and shiny from whatever oily crap that made up his diet. His brown hair was greasy and pushed away from his face that was just too mismatched to really work together. Beady eyes, big nose, thin lips, and uneven facial hair.
“Right now, I’m the man who is gonna take you in the back room and fuck you ‘till you’re screaming,” he said as he grabbed me, his arm going around my side, and I worried we were so close that he might feel the bulge of my knife or reach into my bag that was still slung over my shoulder.
It seemed like there was finally some life in his boxers, though, because he was oblivious to anything but getting to fuck the shiny, new thing.
I let him lead me back to the room I’d just abandoned, a space that had a small cot against one wall, a TV on the other, and a dresser under the windows that had made it easy to climb inside without falling and making a racket.
Not that anyone could have heard, what with the music still blasting through the speakers in the common area. Likely put on to drown out the sounds of Bear’s screaming.
That was the only thought that gave me the strength to let this bastard pull me onto his lap, straddling him and his waiting cock.
“I’m tired,” I slurred.
“Too bad,” he said, his hands roaming down my back.
“Too bad,” I repeated as my hand went for my knife in my garter. I flicked it open, pulled it up, and jammed it into his throat before he could even tell what was happening. “Yeah, it is too fucking bad you took my man. Now you all have to die,” I said as his blood spurted, getting on my neck, in my hair, all over my hands while he held his neck and gasped for air as his throat filled with the taste of his own blood.
Bear taught me how to kill a man quickly, quietly, and easily, no extra strength needed.
Just a knife sunk in at just the right spot.
A couple seconds.
And death.
I owed that man everything.
And I would take every life that stood in the way of showing him how much I didn’t take him for granted.
I didn’t waste any time after the president slumped back, eyes open even in death. I hopped up, dropped the bloody knife into my bag, dried my hand off on my clothes, then headed back out into the common room.
The guy from before was out cold with his drinks and drugs, and there was a second of pity in me before I remembered that even if he hadn’t participated in Bear’s torture, he was complicit in it.
He had to die too.
I grabbed for the gun with the silencer instead of the knife, pressed it to his forehead, and pulled the trigger.
Adrenaline thrumming through my system, I made my way back to the other room in the back, finding another guy passed out on his stomach, an arm holding a whiskey bottle that had emptied all over the floor.
I didn’t want a fight.
I wanted it over.
I wanted my man.
So, I moved in slowly, put the gun to the back of his head, and pulled.
Three down.
Three or more to go in the basement.
I took one extra moment to kick out of my shoes, not wanting to announce my presence before it was absolutely necessary.
