Page 2 of Envy
Tony lowers his shaking hands, face streaked with tears and snot and blood. “I didn’t touch the drugs?—”
His garbled protests are cut off by a quick slap from Erik, the force jerking Tony’s head to the side. A surprised laugh scrapes the back of my throat, the unhinged noise sounding like something from a horror movie.
Keep it together, Silas. Can’t lose your shit now. Not when you’re so close to getting Morana back.
Erik would choose to slap someone rather than lay them out. The arrogant son of a bitch always thinks he’ll be able to get answers—the true embodiment of Pride if there ever was one.
“Shh,” Erik coos, gently tilting Tony’s chin up until he meets the stitched-over eyes of Erik’s mask. “We’re not talking about drugs, friend. And I think you know that.”
Tony stills, his face draining of color.
There it is, I think as a smile twists my lips. People always assume Erik is the kind one, but he’s just as vicious as the rest of us.
“That’s fucking right,” I say, voice low as my pulse spikes. I’ve done this song and dance before. We’re nearly done, and I can practically smell the mist of blood. Hear theclickof metal. The blast of a bullet. And then—the blissful echo of silence.
“All this suffering is really unnecessary,” Erik muses, shaking his head as if he’s a disappointed parent. He sighs a moment before lashing out. Leather gloves wrap around Tony’s throat, hauling him to his feet. Erik forces his chin up to meet my gaze, pressing Tony’s back to his chest.
“All you have to do is answer the questions,” Erik says, cutting off Tony’s protests, “and the pain stops.”
“I—I don’t know…” Tony inhales sharply as I withdraw a Glock from my back pocket.
“Tsk, Tsk,” Erik taunts in a playful rebuke just before he pinches Tony’s distorted jaw. Bones grind, pulling a gut-wrenching whimper from his chest, but Erik’s other arm hashim bound, holding him in place. “You aren’t lying to us now, are you, buddy?”
“Who runs the West Coast circuit?” I ask, glancing down at the gun in my hands. I rest my finger on the trigger, admiring the picturesque sight. It’s new, lightweight, and easily disposed of. Just like everything else the Seven use. I raise a brow, surprised Tony isn’t spilling all his secrets by now. “I have no need for you if you won’t talk.”
It’s a bluff, one that Erik knows well, but he plays his part perfectly, stepping back as Tony crumples in on himself.
“Last chance,” I warn, my pulse thrumming. I want him to give me a reason to draw this out. I crave the rush of adrenaline, the blast of power that comes from taking a life. Yes, pulling the trigger is exhilarating, but every time I disappear one of these fuckers, a child gets to return home to her family instead of being siphoned off into the game.
“They’ll kill me.” Tony shakes his head, muttering to himself.
Wrong. Fucking. Answer. Or right, depending on how you look at things. Because this means I get to play. I get to maim and punish and push. I get to create art with a gun and the flash of a bullet, coating the ground in red, as if his blood were my paint and the concrete floors my canvas. What a treat little Tony has given me.
The pain, the cries, the look of hopelessness that descends when they realize this mask—this black cloth with green twine Xs across the eyes and a skeletal smile stitched shut—is the last fucking thing they’ll see before they die…
Fuck me, it’s addicting.
A harsh chuckle vibrates through my chest as I tilt my head back, basking in the carnage to come. It’s echoed by my brothers, the fuckers just as deranged as I am.
With a manic grin stretching wide beneath my mask, I pull the slide of the gun back, letting go as I take aim and fire. Tony jerks, crying out as the bullet connects with his leg. I wait untilhe curls over the blown-out mess of chipped bone and tendons that once was his knee before I adjust my aim a little to the left and shatter his other.
I cock my head to the side, allowing myself a moment to appreciate the sounds of his suffering before I remember all the shit Noctis dug up on him.
“You’ll be praying for death before I’m through with you,” I growl, barely suppressing the urge to put a third bullet between his eyes. “How old was she when you took her? Yourwife.”
I spit the last word, knowing she was nothing but a victim—just like my sister.Erik stills, his fist flexing, and I know he’s contemplating reaching for his own gun.
Something about the situation must finally register, because Tony’s pleas shift into unhinged rage, the kind that only surfaces when you know you have nothing left to lose. He glares, panting for breath as blood seeps from his wounds.
“I saved the bitch. Even told her she could buy her way out if she wanted.”
“As if she’d be able to afford her exit fee,” Adrian snarls, his voice channeling the golden dragon embroidered at his temple. “I may be a greedy, selfish prick, but stealing children? Getting rich off their suffering? It’s something even the devil would condemn.”
“Not just condemn, brother,” Dominic says. Dark blue thread is woven into the demonic representation of Satan—the spiraling ram horns and vengeful goat eyes disconcerting for even the purest of heart. “Satan delights in eternal torture for assholes like him.”
Dominic’s mask tilts up, finding my watching gaze.
“Bullets are too quick, Silas. Switch to a blade. Carve off pieces of him until he no longer remembers his name.”