Page 3 of Death, Interrupted
Actually…Iamsaid lunatic.
Who am I to judge? Screaming into the void is literally my day job.
His poor neighbors, though. These walls couldn’t be thick. He was probably public enemy number one in the building. At least I had the decency to soundproof my gaming room back home.That’s called courtesy,Garrett.You should try it.
Although after tonight, nobody will ever hear you scream again.
Damn, that’s dark.
And it made my dick jolt.
Weird. I wasn’t usually so full of myself that my own thoughts got me hard, but suddenly all I wanted was a front-row seat to me getting myself off.
Funnily enough, there was a full-body mirror on the wall in front of me, and I looked at myself before dropping my gaze to my crotch.
You can’t, I told myself, fighting the urge.
Kill first, pleasure second.
I crept forward with a low groan until the living room came into view, and there he was, plopped onthe couch, back turned to me, a controller clutched in his hands as he leaned toward a massive flat-screen TV. Nice setup, actually. Expensive. Clean. Organized. Definitely enviable. Too bad he wouldn’t be enjoying it much longer. Shame, really.
I tilted my head, knife still in hand, just in time to see his score flash across the screen. A low score. Apatheticscore. In the very shooter game I dominated, the one I could play blindfolded, half-asleep, with one hand tied behind my back.
“What a loser,” I muttered, grinning.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Garrett screamed, making me actually flinch hard enough that I almost dropped the knife.
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed under my breath. The man was volume incarnate.
He cursed at the screen, shaking his head and letting it fall forward in defeat, and for a second, I wondered if I should just sit back and let this play out, because honestly, watching him was pure entertainment. He wasn’t just bad at the game; he was dreadful, fumbling, forgetting to move, getting stuck in corners, dying in places that weren’t even dangerous. And hejustshot himself in the foot. It was a tragic comedy.
Then his colleague got shot, and his character on the screen just stood there, wallowing in annoyance,and calling out for help because of his bleeding foot.
“You should move, buddy,” I advised him softly. “You’ll be next.”
Of course, he didn’t hear me, but he did answer whoever was in his headset.
“No, goddammit, it wouldn’t have worked either way. That’s the dumbest spot to hide. Yeah, yeah, rookie mistake. Ah, fuck!”
And then he finally got shot.
“Aaand he’s dead,” I chuckled, crossing my arms smugly, only to immediately jab my own bicep with the tip of my knife. “Ow! Shit!” I hissed, jerking my arm away, staring at the tiny tear in my jacket.
Smooth, Sly. Just smooth.
Groaning again, I threw my arms up in annoyance, only to let the knife slip from my hand and clatter on the tile floor like a cymbal crash in an empty church. I scrambled to snatch it up, my eyes glued to Garrett’s head, waiting for him to whirl around. But he didn’t. He was too busy raging.
“One more round,” he muttered into the mic. “We need to win this.”
Ha. Not with those skills.
I lingered there, debating when to make my move, when he suddenly paused the game.
“Need water. One sec.”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
I panicked, scanning for a hiding spot, but before Icould move, he turned. His headphones came off, and his eyes met mine instantly.