Page 56 of The Games We Play (Balance of Power #3)

SEAMUS

H e trips on his own foot as he backs away from the bars. Squinting, with a look of fear in his pale eyes, he quickly covers it up.

But, I already caught it.

He’s terrified, as he should be.

“Well if it isn’t my old friend, Semun,” he says, faking confidence he doesn’t have.

“I am far from a friend to you,” I say as I lean up against the bars, peering into the small cell encasing him.

There’s a three foot bench that lines the back of the cement wall, with a metal sink and toilet built into the far corner.

I can work with that.

“Everyone is a friend inside these walls, when you know the sort of people I know out there.” He tips his chin to the exit door, like that’s the only barrier between him and freedom.

I gesture to the keyhole as I glance at Whitlock. He tosses the keys to me and I slip the key in chasm and twist, unlocking it. The sound echoes off the cement walls and vibrates through the room .

He glances at the opening then to me, stepping back, as I step in.

“I have money. I have connections?—”

“You have nothing I need,” I calmly interrupt him, as I step toward the bench, pushing my weight into it to test its strength.

That’ll do.

“Seamus, look…”

“Oh, now it’s Seamus?” I huff out a chuckle.

He swallows audibly.

Maybe it was my laugh. Maybe it’s my calm demeanor. Maybe it’s sunk in that nothing he can say or do will get him out of this cell alive.

“I made a promise to you at the prison earlier today, and I always keep my promises,” I remind him.

He bares his teeth at me, grunting in annoyance, but staying exactly where he is because he’s trapped and he knows it. His fists clench at his sides, keeping in his angry outburst because he knows he’s stuck.

“Silent or spectacle? I believe those were your options.” I bend down and slide the skinning knife from my boot holster, crouch down on the floor, and use the cement to sharpen the blade.

I lift my gaze to him as I slip the blade back in its holder, then look around the cell at the ceiling bars.

“We could do a Silence of the Lambs tribute in here. That would be fun.”

His eyes grow wide and I can see the rapid heaving of his chest as he tries to hide his fear.

“You’ll never get away with this!” he screams as his voice cracks. Does he actually think the louder he is, the better chance he has?

I wince, as I rub my ear, annoyed.

“Desperation looks good on you,” I say, as I pull my gun out of the sleeve, giving it a once over and checking the safety, then tuck it back into my belt.

He shifts his stance, and at first I think he’s uncomfortable. But as he stands to his full height, I see that his demeanor has completely morphed into something darker. His energy has changed, and when he dips his chin to his chest, I see the immoral darkness in his eyes.

“It looked better on her.” His reply is an evil whisper in this dark cell, and his words penetrate me worse than any weapon could.

“The way she begged for my cock, telling me how much better I was than you. Whimpering when I slammed into her. Oh, she was desperate alright.” His lips curve up into a smile. “She’ll never forget me. Never. I will live in her mind forever, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Seamus…” Whitlock’s voice of warning is far away, but his words are nothing more than a name by the time it reaches me.

Fury licks at every corner of my body. My heart pounds behind my ribcage that rises and falls, as his words stab me like a knife to the chest.

It must be a minute that goes by as we stare at each other. My contained rage is still a wildfire burning under my skin. He just continues to stare me down with that sardonic smile, and he must think he’s getting to me.

That’s probably something he’s gotten used to as an inmate in a prison that he practically runs with his family's money and connections.

But he has no idea what I’ve seen and the things I’ve done. Never did those jobs feel so goddamn personal.

Vengeance was never my motivation. But it is now and that centers me, keeping me focused and completely in control.

“Psstt…Seamus—” Whitlock whisper-yells through the side of the cell. I swivel my neck and look in his direction.

His eyebrows are pushed up to his forehead and his palm faces up as he gestures toward Nathan. “Are you done fucking with him yet?” He says, tapping the face of his watch .

“Yeah, I guess playtime is over, isn’t it?” I ask, turning back to Nathan.

And now he can see the devil-in-hiding behind my eyes. The one I mask so well.

Nathan’s brow pinches together as he steps back. I can see the realization that his taunting did nothing and how powerless he is when he’s trapped in the cage with someone like me.

“Nothing you can say will stop me from what I came here to do, Nathan.”

“Stop—”

“Stop?” I question, interrupting him. “Did you stop?” I tsk, shaking my head as I crouch down and grab the skinning knife from my boot.

“This will be what she remembers,” I gesture to the knife, “because I’m going to whisper every single detail of how you begged for your life, while I fuck the memory of you out of her.”

He takes a giant step back, cornering himself next to the sink and bench as he holds his arms out in front of him.

I jab forward, flicking my wrist once over his left arm then again over his right, slicing him between his forearm and his wrist.

He screams as he leans forward, holding his palms over his bleeding arms.

“That’s the thing about this knife, it gets right under that last layer of skin and tears away from the flesh. Makes you bleed like…a lot.” I shrug, kicking my knee into his face, cracking his nose.

Blood splatters on the ground as he falls to the floor. One hand covers his face, the other presses into the cement floor. Blood drips from the incisions on his forearms, and I can’t help but think that he doesn’t really need that wrist.

I step on his hand with one foot, kicking the base of his joint with the other, completely dislocating it.

It’s a gut-wrenching, piercing scream that follows .

“Fuck you and that fucking whore,” he manages to spit out before he pushes back on his haunches, leaning into himself.

Before he can hide, I grab his right hand and hold it in place on the edge of the bench, slamming my hand down over the top. There is the distinct cracking of tendons tearing and cartilage breaking as it bends backwards, that sounds a little bit like my new favorite harmony.

A mix of screams and begging cycle through the room and I bask in the soundtrack that I wish I could record for Mimi.

Blood drips from the cuts on his wrists, but the worst of it is misting from his mouth through the uncontrollable whining. I look down, inspecting my feet. He’s making a fucking mess all over my shoes.

Grabbing the back of his neck, I yank him back on his feet and drag him in front of the toilet.

“You’re making a mess and I don’t appreciate it. Let’s clean you up, shall we?”

Glancing in, it’s not pleasant. It’s stainless steel, with brown and white water marks, and I can’t be sure the last time it was thoroughly cleaned. It even has some waterlogged toilet paper floating at the top, because whoever used it last didn't get it to flush all the way.

Darn.

“No, no…don’t—” he words are drowned out by the sounds of bubbles as I press his face hard into the metal bowl.

“Oof, gross.” Whitlock screws up his face and he looks away.

Pulling Nathan up, I lean down, whispering in his ear, “This is exactly how Mimi felt. Helpless. Disgusted. Violated.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I slam his face back down, the metal bowl clanging as his forehead bangs against it.

The water slushes around us, a mix of blood, watered down urine, and whatever else might still be residing in it splashes on the floor.

Holding his limp wrists behind his back, I step over him, pushing more of my weight into the back of his skull. His feet slip from underneath me, and a gasp then gurgles follow when I act like I’m going to give him a chance to breathe, but slam his face back down instead.

A loud wail and muffled howl echo in the bowl as his body jerks, once-twice, then goes completely limp.

Releasing my grip, I stand, rolling my neck from side-to-side. Lifting my leg, I step over Nathan’s contorted body and make my way toward Whitlock.

Miller stands next to him sucking on the traditional, celebratory lollipop. He tilts his head to peek behind me, the white stick hanging out the side of his mouth, and he’s completely unamused by the lifeless body that halfway hangs out of the dirty toilet.

“Did you bring me a lollipop?” I ask.

“I had it ready before you even started,” he replies as he hands me a red one. I quickly tear off the plastic and pop it in my mouth.

“Did you bring me a lollipop, too?" Whitlock asks, as he turns to him.

“Do you think I have an endless supply?” He arches a brow as he peers over at him.

“Seriously?” Whitlock looks between us both as we thoroughly enjoy our traditional post-op treat.

Miller sensually hums as he licks the lollipop, glancing over at him. Whitlock rolls his eyes, frowning.

“Jesus, do you always whine this much?” Miller grabs a handful of multi-colored lollipops out of his front vest pocket, handing him a green one.

He snatches the lollipop out of Miller’s grasp, pulls the plastic covering off, then shoves the candy stick in his mouth, mumbling, “I just wanted a fucking lollipop.”

Shaking my head with a smirk, I turn and take one last look at the first man I killed by choice.

The one I actively sought after, for revenge, for my own personal justice…

for Mimi. I can’t justify this being an order or a job, but it feels the same.

Like it had to be done. Because some people can’t be trusted to live in this world.

“Alright, let’s get the hell out of—” I’m interrupted as a man's thundering voice barrels through the room, matching the sounds of his urgent footsteps.

“What the fuck is going on back here?”