Page 135 of Shattered In Darkness

I force his jaw open, rip at the lips, shove two fingers deep and fish out his tongue. It flaps, trying to curl away. I take the knife and hack it, rough, fast, through meat and membrane.

He gags, chokes, blood gushing everywhere, thick spray across my hands, his collar, the chair. He convulses, eyes wide, tears streaking down.

“No more lies,” I say. “No more poison.”

He tries to pull away, but the zip ties dig in deeper, biting to bone. His hands are trembling. I force the left one to the pipe, fingers splayed.

Taking the blade, I chop. Once. Twice. Bone grinds, tendons snap. Fingers scatter like fat white grubs onto the floor. He tries to pass out. I slap him, waking him up.

I’m not finished.

I hack off the rest of the hand. It’s gory work. The blade slips; I use the butt of the knife to crush the knuckles, then tear flesh with my fist. Blood fountains, splatters the concrete, mixes with the piss and shit leaking from his pants.

“No more hurting. No more touching her.”

He’s sobbing, moaning, can’t say words. Can’t even meet my eyes.

His lap is next. He sees it, the blade, and realizes, then he screams.

I unzip his pants and pull out the shriveled cock before slicing it off in one clean motion. Blood sprays, hot and wild, across his thighs. He loses his mind, thrashing, shrieking, nearly pulling the chair off its legs. I drop the ruined meat on the ground and flick open my lighter. Old, silver. I set his cock on fire. Watch it shrivel and blacken, stink rising.

He howls, but it’s muted now, more gurgle than scream.

He’ll never touch her again.

Lola is there, just beyond the threshold. Eyes huge, face white-blue in the dark, lips parting as she watches me work. Horror, yes. But relief too. Something blacker. She wanted this.

Marcus is going, fading. Blood loss, shock. He slumps, drools red, mouth split and oozing.

I lean close, knife in my hand, heart pounding like a war drum.

“No second chances,” I whisper. “She’s free.”

I drive the blade through his chest. Hard, up under the ribs, twisting until the heart pops. He jerks once. Twice. Then sags, dead for real.

The silence is absolute. Just the sound of dripping blood, my breath, her breath.

I stand over him, shaking. All I see is red. My pulse is gone, replaced by this hollow, echoing triumph.

Lola steps forward, shaking, trembling. She steps out of the dark and into the bloody ring of ruin looking at me, taking in every piece. Broken man, broken monster.

I wipe my hands on his jacket and stare at her.

“It’s over,” I say, voice wrecked. “He can’t hurt you now.”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares at the gore, the wreckage, the thing I became for her.

We stand in the silence, covered in blood and frost.

47

LOLA

Everything is black. Everything is silent, except for the dying rasp of the fire. Breathless, I stagger back from the body, boots slipping in the mud.

My legs almost give out asI clutch my arms around myself, trembling.

I look down at my hands. Smeared with red, cut up, half frozen. My shirt is torn, dotted with a spray of pink and brown, the color of blood mixed with dirt. Blood stains my neck, my thighs, the inside of my wrists.