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“No,” Creeper says when Hoodie presses my hips into the table and lines up at my entrance. “I want the bitch.”
His friend moves out of the way so Creeper can situate himself between my thighs, but instead of thrusting, he jerks my shoulder to flip me on my back. Hatred curls my lip, but I keep my eyes off him, focusing on the blender on the kitchen counter.
It’s dirty. There’s a layer of green coating the inside of the plastic like someone made a green smoothie earlier, which seems odd. The pizza boxes stacked on the counter don’t suggest anyone here is health conscious.
Whose smoothie is it? Onion Breath’s?
I contemplate this while Creeper’s lips trail up my torso like the lover he was. Every touch bites into my mind, eating away at it and stripping away any sense of safety I’ve ever had, but I just focus on that blender. Focus on the distraction.
“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Creeper hisses before sucking a nipple into his mouth.
I squint as the blender starts to change. The green liquid turns blood red, and even though the blade never moves, I can hear it whirling.
Blood.
Creeper’s blood.
I see a vision of myself dropping his extracted testicles into the blender, one at a time while he screams and begs for mercy on the floor.
It’s a vision, a dream. A fantasy, maybe. They happen sometimes. Usually, the dark thoughts are an unwanted source of shame, but right now, I welcome them. I see myself putting the blender to his lips, a knife to his throat, and smiling as he drinks the liquid.
I see it in my mind as he impales me, but I can barely feel him anymore. Not really. I’m going numb.
“I should’ve let her kill you,” I whisper.
Creeper laughs and grasps my jaw so he can jerk me to face him. “Who, sweetheart?”
His smile falls when my empty expression doesn’t change.
“The same person who killed Damian.” I don’t sneer the words. They’re only an admittance.
He laughs half-heartedly. “And who would that be?”
When I don’t answer, he lifts me off the table a couple inches then slams me back down. “Who?”
I turn my head to the blender and smile when my vision-self lifts the blender as a toast and gives me a wink.
“I wonder who will get to you first… Her or Alik.”
Creeper takes my neck and jerks me into a sitting position. “Your friends can’t save you here, bitch. Don’t you ever fucking mention that cocksucker’s name again.”
“Hold up, that sounds Russian,” Onion breath says with a laugh. “You don’t have a Bratva boyfriend, do you, baby?”
Creeper glares at the man then turns back to me with a snarl. “Lay down.” He shoves me back so I fall to the table and roll my head toward the kitchen counter.
“I’m gonna put your balls in that blender, Creeper.”
He stills at the ice in my muted tone.
“Well, that’s fucking creepy,” Fish says, sounding only mildly amused.
My lips lift ever so subtly. “And then I’m gonna make you drink it.”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Creeper yells, rearing his fist back before landing a blow to my jaw. Pain explodes as my teeth clamp down on my tongue. I open my mouth to yell, but Creeper hits me in the stomach next, stealing my breath.
Blood coats my tongue and leaks out onto the table while my eyelids feel heavy but don’t fully close. I catch Fish looking at me with an expression that makes me wonder what I look like. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
Or maybe a maniac.
