Page 129 of Little Sunshine
I talked quickly before the pain stole his ability to listen. To comprehend the magnitude of his fuckup. “Not a scare tactic. A very real poison is flowing through your veins. It’s going to feel like your skin is slowly being peeled from your body. It’ll burn like your blood is being boiled from the insides.” I held up the kit. “I have a compound that can neutralize it within seconds. All that pain, your impending death,”—I snapped my fingers—“gone like that.”
He scrambled for it. The table screeched as he dragged it along the floor, trying in vain to get relief from the slow building agony.
My laugh was cruel even to my own ears as I tucked the case away. “You don’t get that. Like you said, you just watched. So now we’ll just watch.”
He tried again to squeeze his hand through the cuff. When that didn’t work, he slammed it against the table—likely in an attempt to break the bones into being more pliable. A sheen of sweat broke out over his face as he continued thrashing like a trapped bear.
Actually, bear gave him too much credit.
A trapped weasel.
When he couldn’t break his own hand, he switched his focus to the table. He knocked it onto its side and futilely tried to break it. Then he tried to drag it with him as he lunged for me in desperation.
A stiff breeze could’ve knocked him over, so I plopped into a chair and kicked the already toppled table. It pulled him back, and he clutched his side, curling into himself. Another cramp tore through him, and he turned his desperate eyes to me. “Please.”
“Nope.”
No hesitation.
No sympathy.
Nothing but watching.
He looked at Maximo. “Just shoot me.”
“Nah,” Maximo said with the same heartlessness.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Zale chanted over and over. But not with guilt at the torturous death of his friend that was his fault—in the actions that’d landed them there and literally since he’d injected the dose of hell. He was only worried about himself as he scanned the room repeatedly, trying to save his own ass.
Far sooner than he deserved, the last weak breath left Jacobs. It was quick, but it wasn’t a pain-free death. Those last minutes of his life had likely felt like an eternity of suffering.
While we just watched.
Like he deserved.
Something thumped loudly, and Zale jolted, letting out a high-pitched screech.
“Are you four?” Cole asked with a mocking snicker as he opened the door.
Marco stepped in with his hands full, and I righted the table so he could set the load down.
Meeting my eyes, he tipped his lips in a barely-there smirk and quietly chuckled. “You’re a sick bastard.”
I put my hand to my heart. “Thank you.”
His expression returned to stone as he tossed me a pair of gloves. “Freddy says if you ruin those, you owe him a new pair.”
“Noted.”
I stood and rounded the table, going the long way as I set the gloves down next to the rest of it.
“W-what is that?” Zale haltingly asked. He sniffed, trying to get more of the mouthwatering scent.
I didn’t blame him. The heavy scent of blood, sweat, terror, and death that’d clung to the small space was replaced by something sweet.
“Dessert.” I stopped in front of him and jerked my head toward the door. “You can go.”
“W-what?”
