Page 16

“Not bad,” I comment, imagining doing it to my next donor. I’m going to need a sturdy table to lay the shithead down on and longer chains to restrain them.

“There’s more, salt was poured into the wound. And as a final blow, the lungs were pulled out and draped over the rib-wings for effect. There’s debate about whether or not this practice actually existed, or if it’s just poppycock.”

“Either way someone took the time to think this up.” Raph smirks with wicked pleasure. I can clearly see what’s going on in that lizard brain of his.

“By the way, the way you carve words into donors is subpar at best.” Michael glances at the dead fucker behind me before sticking his tongue out at me.

I grit my teeth at his goading, then spin around and stab the throwing knife into the donor’s lifeless eye. It twitches. Must be an involuntary muscle contraction. I sink the blade further inside the skull. Just to make sure he’s fucking dead.

“Trying to steal the impaler nickname from me?” Raph keeps annoying me.

“Hearing your voice is like dragging my balls across shattered glass,” I mutter.

“That’s an idea. Should take it for a spin in the FUNS room,” Michael states.

“Done that.” Raph kisses his husband’s head.

“Why the fuck are you here? You’re disturbing me,” I bark.

Raph looks to my left at a chair where a piece of paper lies. I must have been so taken by the torture, I didn’t hear him come inside the room. I clean the blood off my hands as best as I can using a wet cloth and then grab the folded paper.

It looks like a threatening note…a ridiculous one.

ONE WEEK LEFT.

OWNERSHIP OF YOUR MOCCASINS WILL PASS ON TO ME.

BE SOLD ON ETSY FOR FIVE CENTS.

There’s a little doodle of a middle finger at the end.

Those are my genuine Italian ostrich leather moccasins, which he stole from me. It’s a battle that has been going on since we were kids. We take something from one another and hide it,calling each other names while we go crazy looking for it. The truth is, it keeps our relentless personalities busy so we don’t fall into darker patterns. Lately though, I’ve been too taken by all the rest to play the game.

“There’s no time limit, you fucker. And why use cut-out letters if there’s nothing anonymous about it?” I deadpan, sending ayou moronlook at Raph as I turn the note to show it to him. “You brought it to me.”

Michael gasps. “Oh my God. You mauled my Scientific American for that? How dare you, you-you psycho!”

“Piglet, I was bored. You’re working all the time.”

And here is the restless side I was talking about before.I get bored too, but a threatening note? Really?

“Like you don’t. Use your own damn magazines!” Michael punches his husband’s chest too weakly for my liking.

“I don’t read paperbacks.” Raph sounds unbothered by it all, but his arms tighten around Michael.

“I’m going to kill you!” Michael growls like an annoyed little kitty.

“How are you going to do it?” I’m the one goading this time.

“Not sure.” He huffs flailing his arms.

“He’ll suffocate me…with kisses. He loves me to death,” Raph states with a smirk.

Michael sniffs at him. “You can’t use the love card every time you drive me mad!”

“I’ll do it then.” I grab Leslie, my gun, from the table and release the safety. Am I teasing? I’m not sure. I’ve thought about ending him many times, in multiple different ways. It’s kind of a hobby.

Michael turns to me. “Can’t you see that he did this for you, Uri?”