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“Well, well,” I drawl, savoring the fear on their faces. “Looks like you two made the rookie mistake of stealing from the wrong people.”
I slide my hand into my jacket, curling my fingers around the cool metal of my gun, and draw it out fluidly, aiming the barrel squarely at the one on the left.
“You see when you cross us, there are consequences.” I punctuate the last word by cocking the hammer back with my thumb.
Beside me, Ty mirrors my stance, his weapon trained on the one on the right. The steel glints under the dim lights.
The shorter man on the right whimpers, his hands raised in a pitiful attempt at surrender. “We didn’t know, man. It was just a job, that’s all!”
I snort derisively. “Just a job? You idiots had no clue who you messed with.” I take a step forward, the gun steady. “But don’t worry, you’re about to get a crash course in exactly why you don’t fuck with Tyson’s carnival.”
The fear dancing in their eyes excites me. My boot connects with the shorter man’s gut, sending him to the floor. I smirk as I pull him upright by his hair, the action causing him to cry out in pain.
Reaching for the hooked chains dangling from the rafters, I relish the cold, hard metal between my fingers. I swing the chains in a wide arc, the steel glinting in the dim light, before burying them deep in his flesh. The man howls, a piercing sound that echoes off the damp walls. I ignore his desperate pleas, yanking the chains with a savage strength, tearing through muscle and sinew.
Blood rains down, warm and sticky, drenching the concrete as the man’s screams pierce the air. With a final, brutal heave, I hoist him up, leaving him suspended by the hooks in his chest, writhing in agony.
I turn to the other man, his eyes wide with terror. Approaching with measured steps, I produce a knife, the blade glinting wickedly. I drive it through his palm and pull him toward a wooden table, nailing him to it ruthlessly. His cries join the chorus of his friend’s, a gruesome symphony.
The blade slashes deep, cleaving flesh and bone, the sound of ripping fabric and shredded skinfilling the room. With a violent twist, I tear through the other hand, pinning him to the table, a living martyr. Blood pumps from his ruined hands, pooling on the surface.
The look of horror on their faces fuels the fire in my veins. I want them to know true fear, to feel the weight of their transgressions. No mercy. No escape. Their suffering is my art.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, the metallic scent of blood heightening my senses. I stand amidst the carnage, my body thrumming with adrenaline. I let out a savage laugh, the echoes mingling with the dying echoes of their screams.
I glance at Ty, his face lit with savage approval. Together, we stand, the architects of their pain.
The men’s feeble struggles begin to fade, their eyes glassy, resigned to their fate.
This is but a taste of the havoc I can wreak. A promise of the chaos I’ll unleash if anyone dares to cross us again. I turn to Ty, my eyes gleaming with manic delight. “Now that,” I breathe, “was satisfying.”
Ty grins, his eyes wild. “They got off easy if you ask me. But the real fun’s just getting started.” His deep voice rumbles through the lockup.
The two men are limp, their eyes rolling back as they slip into unconsciousness. I chuckle, my voice taking on a dark edge. “Guess we wore them out. At least they got a front-row seat to the show now.”
“The show?” Ty’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, but they’re going to be the main event. But first...” He strides forward, the hook in his hand glinting as he stepscloser.
Ty’s eyes glint with a cruel light as he buries the hook deep into the shoulder of one of the men, eliciting a weak groan. He leans close, his lips curling into a sinister smile. “Just a little taste,” he purrs. “A preview of the agony that’s coming their way.”
I can’t help but admire his finesse.
“The game’s afoot.” I chuckle, reaching for my tablet. “Time to crank up the heat. Let’s give them a little wake-up call.”
With a few swift taps, I access their devices, unleashing a torrent of messages from their accounts. No one is spared the barrage of disturbing content: family, friends, colleagues.
Ty chuckles, his eyes shining with twisted amusement. “I do love a good old-fashioned digital lynching. Leave it to you to make their lives a living hell from the comfort of your trailer.”
“Hey, when it comes to torment, I deliver. It’s the Phoenix special.” I smirk. “But you? You’re the master of the grand finale.”
He straightens. “We make a damn good team. But, the grande finale will have to wait.”
I glance at the men, their battered, bloodied bodies, and smile. “Agreed. Now, let’s get back to the carnival.”
Ty claps me on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Absolutely. We’ll let them stew in their juices for a while.”
The dark, unspoken bond between us fuels my steps as we exit the lockup.
11
