Page 144 of Sinister Legacy
“Nuh uh, not too close now, lover boy, or I’ll be forced to shove her over the edge. Do you think her neck will snap straight away, or do you think she’ll choke to death? The drop is too high and you’re not tall enough to reach her.”
“What the fuck,” King growls, his anger rising. “Let her the fuck go!”
“Ooh, I like it when you get angry. I bet Keira likes it, too. I bet it makes her tingle between her legs.”
I slide past King, holding my hands up in defeat. “Let her go. There’s no need for this.”
“Are you seriously trying to talk me down with a knife in your hand?”
Inhaling a steadying breath, I slowly bend down and place the knife on the wooden floor. I keep my eyes locked on the devil’s mask the entire time, never once letting them slide away. “Happy now?” Straightening up, I make a show of kicking it to the side. “I don’t have a knife now. Please let her go.”
A sinister chuckle rings out behind the mask. “So how does this end? I let her go and we all walk our separate ways? The sun rises in the morning, and we pretend that none of this happened?”
“Pretty much,” I reply at the same time King blurts. “This ends with me snapping your fucking neck.”
Rolling my eyes, I gesture in his direction. “Don’t mind him. He’s a sociopath, and they’re known for their violent outbursts and inability to control their anger, unlike the psychopath in front of you.” I motion in Keira’s direction. “We use the words interchangeably, but they’re not quite the same thing. Despite what King here likes to think, a psychopath is more dangerous than a sociopath as they’re more calculated, unlike a sociopath who acts on impulse.”
King sucks on his teeth, scoffing, then turns to me. “A sociopath is also unable to maintain a social life, unlike a psychopath who can successfully lead a double life right underneath everyone’s noses, which is why most serial killers fall under that category. If we’re going to bother with labels, I think it’s a safer bet to call us all fucking psychopaths, wouldn’t you say?”
“See?” I wave at him again. “Hot-tempered.”
“Will you both shut the fuck up!” the masked killer growls, digging the knife into Keira’s neck.
A trickle of blood trails down her pale skin, causing King to pace beside me like a chained beast. He’s two seconds away from storming up the stairs.
I have to say, his protective instinct is impressive.
Alarming, but impressive.
“The third act is fun, right?”
King stops pacing, glaring up at the killer.
“Because I’m so partial to games, we’ll play another one. If you lift the cushions on the couch, you’ll each find a knife.” The distorted voice sneers, “Not the one you kicked away, Madison. Don’t cheat.”
When we don’t move, the distorted voice shouts, “Move!”
As one, we walk forward to the red couch. King is the first one to wrench the cushion away and dig out an eight-inch knife. I gulp, staring at the sharp blade and King’s tattooed fingers wrapped around the handle.
“You too, Madison.”
“Fuck it,” I mumble, lifting the couch cushion and removing the knife. It’s larger than the one I took from the kitchen. Longer and sharper.
“I’d give you both a gold star, but my hands are occupied.” There’s humor in the demented killer’s voice. “You killed my friend in cold blood. I think it’s only fair that you kill yourselves in cold blood, too. I want you to stab yourself in the gut, all the fucking way, until the handle is the only thing protruding. Do that, and I’ll consider not killing your precious Keira.”
“You’re fucking insane,” King snarls, and for once, we’re on the same wavelength. This is fucking madness. I already have two stab wounds, shallow ones, sure, but it fucking stings. This knife will cause considerable damage.
“So you don’t want to play?” To Keira, the monster says, “Do you hear that? They don’t care about you enough to play my games. Unless they’re willing to stab themselves in the fucking gut for you, are they really worthy of your time? Of a serial killer’s daughter?” Aiming soulless eyes at us, the distorted voice adds, “Pathetic.”
I hold my breath, watching King step up on the couch and jump over the back, landing with a heavy thud. His walk is cocky, his smirk even more so. “You think I wouldn’t die to protect Keira? Do you think I wouldn’t kill any fucker who threatens her safety? Even me?”
“Sometimes I do worry about you, King. You need sectioning,” I mutter.
Throwing me a poisonous glare over his shoulder, he faces forward again. His masculine cockiness radiates off him in waves, and I wonder if this is how humanity survived in the first place—through sheer stupidity.
My thoughts shatter and my eyes widen when he lifts the knife and stabs himself in the gut.
“What the hell?” I run forward, rounding the couch as he doubles over, clutching his waist. Blood pours from between his fingers. This is not a joke. He really did stab himself. Keira is sobbing in the background.
