Page 79 of Equilibrium
“Now,” I turned to the maggot. “Sammy. What are we going to do with you?”
“I will never tell you anything. Not one thing.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Not that I really care, darling. I just wanna see you bleed.”
Realizing that I wasn’t joking, and that I didn’t give a fuck about anything else but seeing him down, he grabbed my hand, trying to push me away from him. I was smaller than Storm, physically weaker, but it didn’t mean I was incapable of kicking down guys twice my size.
Men always thought that just because they were bigger than us, they could overpower us. What they often forgot about was that for every inch of their size, we possessed speed they didn’t have. Before he could push me away from him, I grabbed his dick, squeezing more than necessary. His eyes bulged and the attempt to push me away died down, followed with whimpers resembling those of a small cat.
“Please, please,” he kept chanting. “I have kids.”
“Do I look like a give a fuck about your reproductive history?” I blinked. Why did people always mention kids and other loved ones? I seriously couldn’t give a fuck about the other people they had. If anything, it only put those same people in danger because if there was one thing the Syndicate taught me, it was never to leave other members of the family behind.
Especially not kids. They almost always ended up being a problem a few years down the road, thinking they could avenge the scumbags they considered to be their family, which was a threat we didn’t want to deal with.
“You’re a heartless bitch, Ophelia Aster!” He spit in my face. “A cold, heartless bitch.”
I paused to think about it, cleaning the spit from my face. “I’ve heard worse names.”
“A piece of shit!” He wasn’t creative, was he? “You will burn in hell!”
What was it with people constantly giving theyou’ll burn in hellspeech? It wasn’t like I didn’t know that what I did was a bigno buenoin the eyes of God or whatever deity there was. And if there really was Heaven or Hell, I didn’t really give a fuck which one I ended up getting into. This life already prepared me for eternal suffering.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I pulled him by the collar of his shirt and threw him toward Storm. He pulled him to the table, throwing him right on top. Sam landed with a huff, moaning, crying out, and begging.
As Storm held his arms down, I became giddy with the possibilities of where to start, what to do, and which part of the skin to remove first. I tore through his shirt, throwing it open, revealing his mostly bare chest. The same insignia Storm had tattooed on his upper arm, stood proudly on Sam’s left pec, but he didn’t deserve it.
“What do we have here?” I climbed on the table and sat on top of his stomach, immobilizing him. “You don’t get to die with this on you.” I dragged the tip of the dagger over the edges of the tattoo, staring at the open jaws of the three-headed beast. “I don’t think Cerberus would want you to be one of his hosts. What do you think, babe?” I looked at Storm. “Should I start with this one?” I stabbed the tip of the dagger into the center of the tattoo, still looking at him. “He shouldn’t have it.”
Heat coiled in my stomach as Storm dragged his eyes over my face to my breasts that were threatening to spill over the black t-shirt I wore. I wiggled on top of Sam who continued moaning as I dug the dagger deeper, still waiting for Storm to answer.
“I think it’s a fantastic idea, Sunshine.”
“Both of you are psychopaths!”
“Aww, poor baby.” I leaned down, looking into Sam’s eyes. “I honestly prefer creative and all that crap, but, suit yourself.”
“Help!” he started screaming. “Somebody help me!”
I pulled the dagger out, but the relief that washed over his face was short-lived when I returned to the edge of the tattoo and started cutting through, lifting the skin up, making the Cerberus come to life as the skin moved with the dagger. His screams pierced my ears, and the pain and fear on his face fed into the darkest parts of me. The parts I missed and at the same time, resented.
The parts I knew I couldn’t live without and I was starting to be okay with it. No more hiding, no more running, this is who I am. This is who I was always supposed to be.
I threw the piece of skin to the side, the blood seeping from the open wound on his chest, dripping onto the table. My hands were colored red, a stark contrast on my pale skin.
“Fuck!”
“Are you gonna talk?” Storm asked him again.
“Fuck you!”
I moved to his throat and sliced the skin on the side, letting the capillary blood trickle down. He thrashed beneath me, but between Storm’s hold and me sitting on top of him, he wasn’t going anywhere.
I loved the blank canvas, ready for me to do what needed to be done. Focusing on the olive skin of his chest, I dug into the pectoral muscle on the other side, slicing a piece of his skin. The screams were music to my ears, and as I moved lower to his abdomen, he tried lifting his head, looking at where I went.
“N-No,” he murmured. “Please, anything but that.”
Did he think?“Now you just gave me an idea, buttercup.”
