Scarlet Angel (Mindf*ck #3)(34)

“Been waiting a long time to repay that favor,” I tell him, tossing the ear piece to the side.

He looks at me, and I see it when rage takes hold. Pissed off people are all lunging and no finesse.

As expected, he lunges, and I slam my knee into his torso before bringing my elbow down hard across the back of his neck. He slams into the wall, getting dazed, and staggers a step before falling.

Before he can recover, I grab the wire from my purse, and I wrap it around his throat, choking him from behind. He struggles, standing up with me still behind him, forcing me to ride his back like a monkey as I hang on, choking him harder.

He slams me into the wall, but my grip never loosens, and the pain never comes. My tolerance is so much higher than his.

“You made me this way,” I whisper.

I see it in the mirror across from us—the confusion in his eyes.

He has no idea who I am.

I release him when he drops to the ground, not fully unconscious, but not awake enough to fight back.

With quick movements, I cuff his hands and drag the cable connected to the cuffs to tie off at a beam in his living room. I then tie his feet together, and pull out the electric nail gun from my oversized purse.

A bloodcurdling scream erupts from his throat when I use the small—yet powerful—nail gun on his feet, securing them to the ground with rapid succession. Then I pull out the lube while he continues sobbing.

“Who the fuck are you?” he cries out.

An agonized sob rips from his throat when he tries to move his feet. Those nails are too long for him to pull out of the floor without ripping his feet to shreds.

“Don’t worry, Morgan,” I tell him, grinning as I smear the lube on his bare chest. “I brought lube. I want you to enjoy this. It’ll feel good when I’m inside you.”

With one hard thrust, I plant the knife in his side, and another bloodcurdling scream erupts, but I see it the second he realizes who I am.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” I mock.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No way. It’s not you.”

I lean down, getting right against his ear. “You should have saved me all those years ago. Then I could have saved you.”

With that last taunt, I tug his boxers down, and I pull on the gloves before lubing his dick. The sicko is actually hard. That’s a first.

He watches me, probably thinking I’m going somewhere else with this. The side injury isn’t lethal. I know where to stab to inflict pain but spare life.

He’s in a lot of pain, but he’s such a sexual deviant that he doesn’t seem to even care. At least not until I pull out the other knife and slowly slide it down his lubed up torso, nicking the flesh but not slicing into it.

His breathing stops when I reach his most prized possession.

“Don’t,” he whispers, panic paling his features when he sees what I’m going to do. “I had nothing to do with what they did to Marcus. I swear that wasn’t me.”

“You held the mirror. You laughed as Kyle took the slice. You’re the one who encouraged Kyle to redeem himself in your eyes. You’re the reason it happened. Why should you keep this?” I ask, hearing his fearful cry when I nick just the side.

“Don’t! Please! I fucking beg you.”

A deliciously dark smile curves my lips. “I remember your response when we begged. Fuck them. Kill them both.”

With that, I take the slice, struggling to cut through the harder appendage than I’ve worked with in the past.

His screams pierce the air, and his pleads fall on deaf ears. Just as ours did.

The blood starts running, and I squeeze out three bottles of lube, letting it clump on him as he continues to wail, losing his color as quickly as he loses blood. They bleed more and faster when they’re hard. Interesting.

Just to be a total sick freak, I throw a knife to the floor, stabbing it through the severed appendage I’ve dropped beside his face. He screams and screams, and I laugh as I walk outside.

Two gasoline cans are already waiting. Jake has done as he promised he would. Now that he’s heard what I’m doing, he’s probably on his way to Delaney Grove to execute the first part of our plan.

Singing while Morgan cries and chokes on his own vomit, I spray the gasoline around, then douse his body.

“They say the most painful way to die is by fire. I wonder who volunteered to find out that information,” I chirp cheerfully.

Morgan shakes his head, trying to form words, but he’s in too much pain, overwhelmed by agony and shock.

I strike the match, and his eyes widen one last time.

“I didn’t even need to hear you confess your sins,” I say quietly.

I watch the flame slowly eat away at the matchstick, almost reaching my fingers, before I drop it to his body. The flames start to soar, rapidly licking up the trails of gasoline. I slowly start walking out, hearing the roar of the fire as it spreads, chasing each strip of gas.

“Pretty soon, they’ll all burn,” I say as I walk out the door.





Chapter 13


Lawless are they that make their wills their law.

—William Shakespeare



LOGAN



“What’s beyond these woods?” I ask the sheriff as he tries to blatantly ignore me.

He’s at least 6’3, almost even with me in height. He looks like he spends more time in the gym than any county sheriff I’ve ever seen. His active deputies are more plentiful than small town sheriff departments I’ve been around in the past.