Then she turns back, smiling slightly. “Would you like to know what it feels like to have your head cut off while you’re still alive?”
Karter barks out a laugh. “Wyck, I like this girl. Can we keep her?”
Lexi flinches like the name alone stung her. “Get away from me, you little brat!”
“Sinclair,” I say, my voice a blade. “How do you think she should die?”
No hesitation. No blinking. No mercy.
“She should be raped by three men, like she let happen to my mother. Then her fingers cut off, one by one, since she liked to touch what didn’t belong to her. And last… her head. But not quick. I want towatchher as I slice her neck slow, to the white meat, and let her bleed out like a stuck pig.”
The silence afterward is deafening.
“You have my permission to do all of that,” I say, voice low, deadly. “Except the rape. Nobody here is fucking that waste of skin.”
“That’s fine,” she shrugs. “As long as I get to make her suffer. Pain does most of the talking anyway.”
Then she turns to me, those icy eyes narrowing with intent. “I’m going to kill her now.”
She takes the blade from my hand like it already belonged to her.
And when she turns back to Lexi, it’s not a child standing there.
It’s something born in blood.
Lexi screams as Sinclair lunges. The knife plunges into her eye socket, and Karter holds her in place as her knees hit the floor. One stab. Two. Twisting each time.
“You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you!”
Sinclair doesn’t blink. “Not if I kill you first.”
She digs the blade in deeper, pulling back until both eyes spill like ruptured grapes.
Lexi’s shrieks are animalistic. Sinclair? She just hums.
“You ever heard of the Orb Weaver?” she asks us like she’s discussing her favorite bedtime story.
We stare.
“No?” She wipes her bloody hand across her jeans. “Butcher & Blackbird.Brynne Weaver. Great book for girls with revenge issues.”
She pockets the eyes.
“I’m keeping these,” she adds, like it’s obvious.
“You two sure you want this life?” Onyx asks, voice gruff but intrigued.
Sinclair pauses, looks up. “What other life is there?”
Shiloh finally speaks, quiet but hollow. “We have no one.”
“You do now,” I say. “Finish your art. Take a souvenir. When you're done, we’ll clean up the rest and send the message loud and clear.”
“I’ll stay with them,” Wells offers, stepping forward. “Make sure everything’s... thorough.”
“Good.” I nod. “Karter, when they’re done, bring them to the asylum.”
Shiloh panics, his voice cracking. “We’re not going to the nut house!”
