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“Let’s go back to the torture part, or just off him,” Raph states in a bored tone.

“I’m not yours. I’m his,” Sari suddenly exclaims pointing at our laced hands. Those surges of confidence are cute and sexy.

“You were mine first!” The fucker has the balls to yell—but not for long.

With a roar, I let go of Sari’s hand to grab my Staccato XC 9mm. I flip it and swing the butt down hard on the fucker’s collarbone. He bawls like a newborn baby.

“That means shit.” I drop the heavy metal grip on a rib this time, breaking that too. “I’m the one taking care of him, not you.” Another rib, another cry. “I’m the one coming inside him, not you. Filling him deep and kissing his lips, not you.” I move to his right bloody hand and hammer away. “I wear his brand, and he wears mine.” Now it’s his dick’s turn. “You’re just a talking.” Hit! “Dead.” Hit! “Fucker.” Hit, hit.

I’m not the voice of reason right now; I’m the voice of wrath.

I lower the gun when I feel Sari’s hand on my forearm. His face is buried in my shoulder, eyes closed.

I kiss his head, not gently, all I have in me right now is fury and fire. Sari needs the threat to be gone, but doesn’t need to be part of the annihilation. Killing is not in his blood. I am. And I’ll always give him what he needs.

“Baby Blue. Leave this to me. Focus on the DNA we took from him,” I order him.

He nods. Then he lands a kiss on my shirt and leaves. And Ezra comes in, stopping near Raph.

“How do you dispose of the bodies?” he asks. I start cleaning Pamela’s grip—the Staccato was of use finally, it has earned its name.

“Acid,” Gabe is the one to answer from the other side of the glass wall.

“John George Haigh style?” Ezra’s questioning is getting on my nerves.

“Oh, the acid bath murderer,” Sari exclaims before walking into the lab.

“That was a clean-freak serial killer.” Michael sends a look at Raph, who huffs at him.

Ollie gets in on the conversation as well. “Creepy, Freddy creepy.”

“Why not use a wood chipper?” Ezra again.

“Too messy,” Gabe responds.

I leave Pamela on the table and glance at Trent. He’s whimpering and softly moaning. Does he think this is over? I hope so, because he’s in for a huge surprise.

I walk to the mini flamethrower—a more portable version of a traditional one.

“Where did you get that?” Ollie asks me.

“Home Depot.”

“How much?” Does he want to buy one for Rague? I think he has like six of these.

“On sale around seventeen bucks.” It’s small but very effective at melting skin off bones.

“Are you going to get the nipple enlarger?” Lori’s eyes are on the long pair of metal tweezers dangling from the ceiling.

“You mean the nut re-arranger,” Michael states.

“Nope. It’s the potty re-trainer,” Gabe feels the need to utter.

I’m about to tell everybody to fuck off when an alarm starts blaring.

“Fire, Fire, Fire.” Serena’s voice echoes inside the base. “Proceed to the closest fire exit with caution.”

Fire? I look up. The sprinklers on the ceiling are not working. I turn to the lab where Sari is. He grabs something from his desk before making his way to the others.