Page 140 of Love Me in the Dark

“I didn’t do anything!” he cries, his eyes pleading with us to release him. He jerks again, fighting a useless battle to free himself from the precarious situation he’s found himself in. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? If it’s a sick joke, you’ve had your fun. Let me down.”

“Aww, isn’t it cute? He’s trying to reason with us.” Hals laughs.

“Oh, I assure you, Jack, this isn’t a joke. It doesn’t matter who we are, only that we know who you are. Jack Schwartz. Cross-country runner, from a semi-respectable family. You don’t have wealth, but your grades are good enough to get you a sports scholarship with your family paying the remaining balance themselves.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” he growls back. “You’re going to pay for this once I’m free.”

“Seriously, you think you’re getting out of this?” Jonas steps closer to Jack, swinging his bat, wrapped in barbed wire. Jonas loves it so much he never cleans all the blood from it, just the pieces of flesh.

“Boys, what do you say we break from tradition tonight, and let's all have some fun with him?” I ask. “But I get to draw blood first.”.

I gently run my hand along the blade of the cleaver, ensuring to be careful and not cut myself. Jonas and Hals shout in approval as I move closer to Jack until I’m right in front of him.

“You like to boast about how fast you run. Of your ability to break records that you haven’t in fact done. Do you enjoy getting praise for accolades that aren’t yours?” I question, placing the blade of the cleaver on his chest, not enough to puncture his skin, but enough he can feel it through his shirt.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls before gathering the saliva in his mouth and spitting in my face.

A wave of fury shoots through me as I pull back my fist, punching him square in the mouth. His head flies back before falling forward, blood dripping from his lip.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. Only that we”—I gesture to the guys behind me—“are your worst nightmares come to life. But it’s time to stop playing and get to work. We still have more fun to have tonight, and I’m quickly becoming bored with you. I had hoped you’d be more fun, but alas, you are not.”

I move around his hanging body, being careful when I step over the chain attached to his legs. Wouldn’t bode well for the badass persona I’m dishing out to him if I tripped.

Standing behind him, I don’t need to think. I know what I’m going to do. Bastard likes to gloat about how fast he is so I’m going to handle that Achilles. Jack won’t be running anywhere when I’m done, not that he has a chance of getting away to begin with.

I kneel, firmly holding onto the cleaver with both hands, pulling it back and swinging. It sticks in the heel of his right leg, jerking back slightly against the resistance of the chains holding him in place. But that’s not good enough. I go to pull away, but it’s lodged pretty good, so I have to put more force into removing it.

I’m so lost in the enjoyment of the growing pool of red blood at his feet that I miss the joy of his screams. I need to get my head on straight and stay on track so I can fully enjoy the moment.

I repeat the process again on the same leg, then move to his left. Jack is a crying mess, begging for mercy. His breathing is ragged. Jack’s suffering has me grinning from ear to ear.

My blood races as warmth radiates through me. This feeling of power and control and the sight of blood, as I inflict pain on someone, is what I’ve been dying to feel since our last thirteenth.

I stand up and lift my mask, sliding my tongue along the flat surface of the blade. The intoxicating taste of the coppery substance sends shivers through my body.

Fucking delicious.

Jonas and Hals are whooping in joy. Both of them are bouncing on the balls of their feet, aching for their chance to play.

“Who wants to go next?” I ask, pulling my mask back in place, stepping out from behind Jack’s body.

Jonas doesn’t hesitate. He takes off at a run, bat pulled back until he gets closer, swinging it, making contact with his stomach. The barbed wire digs into Jack’s flesh through his shirt as he screams before his head flops forward and he goes silent.

“Did he just pass out?” Hals steps over to me asking.

“It appears so.”

“That won’t do.” He hands his machete to me before walking away.

Hals steps over to the woodline, picking up another bucket of water. Jonas, knowing what he plans to do, steps to the side as Hals thrusts the contents in Jack's face. Jack’s head jerks up as he sputters for air.

“No sleep for you. You’re going to be wide awake while we have our fun. And guess who’s turn it is now?”

Hals holds his hand out to me, and I return his prized machete to him.

“Let me go. Please,” Jack’s whiny voice begs.

“It’s mine.”