Page 76 of Insidious Heart
At the very least that’s the kind of thing someone would think about doing with their friends. Their acquaintances, or coworkers even. And here I am, the charming fucker who’s been rogue his entire life, staring at the unconscious body of a dirty, perverted cop while planning aday datewith two of the biggest, most stoic bastards I’ve ever met, who probably hate me. I’m even hopeful they’ll agree.
What in the good goddamn is wrong with me?
Feelings.
More of those irritating little emotions bubbling up in my chest and spilling over into my thoughts.
First Little John, then Stevie, now those two.
I knew I was cracked before, fucked up in ways most people can’t even comprehend, but this? This is even worse than I thought.
Because you’re not what everyone has always said you are, and you know it.
I shake John’s voice from my head before taking a deep cleansing breath.
I can analyze the break in psyche later over a cigarette and a beer while I watchSilence of the Lambsfor the hundredth time.
Right now, I need to get down to business.
With a sigh and a wince, I ignore the pain in my bicep, bend over, and unfold this twatwaffle from his current position. I grab Anthony’s ankles and start dragging him along the side of the bed, the dipshit mumbling in his mini-coma about chicken wings while I do, and just when I’m about to clear the end of the bed, I fucking trip over Salinski’s goddamn duffel bag.
I stumble backward and drop his ankles, flailing my arms like an idiot as I hear a loud thud followed by a groan.
Regaining my balance—and what little pride I have left—I scowl down at Anthony then raise a brow in amusement.
The fucker is head and shoulders deep in the floor.
Yes,inthe floor.
The hole in the floor I made when I uncovered his stash.
Anthony Salinski is nearly chest deep in his very ownhidey hole, as the shitbag Dennis Rader would say, and it almost makes me laugh.
Right up until I bend over again to pull him out and Sack-linski surprises me with a New Balance to the face.
I land on my ass with a grunt as my vision blurs, my mask shoved into my grill so hard it makes my nose sting, and before I can gather myself—again—Anthony is on top of me trying like hell to punch me in the head.
“Thought I was… toast, did ya?” he slurs as he swings at me. “Thought… thought I was—”
I move as quickly as I can, grabbing the heavy glass paperweight from his desk and slamming it into the side of his head on reflex. Anthony instantly goes limp in my lap and I shove him off me, glaring through my goggles as I hit him a second then third time for good measure, the right side of his skull caving in from how fucking angry I am.
And somehow, this sack of soggy dicks isstill fucking breathing.
He’s like the goddamn energizer bunny or some shit. And he’sreallytesting my patience because almost everything with this asshole has gone off script. Which, coupled with the mess we’ve made because of it, makes me very unhappy.
Andthatmeans I’m about to get all kinds of creative.
Getting to my feet, I don’t waste any more time. I grab Anthony under the armpits, hoist him up, then walk us backward to his attached bathroom before tossing him in the tub. I go retrieve my bag from by the door, dig through it for a few seconds before settling on an old reliable—my hunting knife with the eight inch blade.
Salinski really pissed me off and now I’m going to make him pay double for it.
I remove a trash bag and set it up, opening it wide before yanking off his shoes and socks and dropping them inside. Moving to his track pants next, I hook the blade in the waistband and go to cut them off but smirk when I realize they’re the kind with the snaps down each side.
Idiot.
After a few tugs, the black and white material joins his sneakers, then I cut through his briefs and start laughing. A teeny tiny dick for a gigantic douchebag. Maybe I’ll stuff it in his ear instead of his mouth like usual.
With a little more pep in my step, I make quick work of his t-shirt before taking just a second to think about how I want to do things.
