Page 185 of Adam
“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” I say, stepping back. “You’d follow me straight into the fire like it’s a fucking vacation.”
She pulls harder. “Let me go.”
She’s furious. I love her like this. Fire in her eyes, fierce as hell. Beautiful, wild, all mine.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I say. “Unless I’m not. Either way, you’ll be safe. That’s the point.”
She shakes her head. “You’re insane.”
I grin. “Eh. I’ve been called worse.” I tap the cuffs. “These stay.”
I toss her a casual salute and walk out.
“Adam, no!”
Finally. Fuck,finally.
Oh, this is the part Ilivefor.
I’ve been waiting for this like a dog chained too long, chewing through its own leash just to get one bite. I’ve been counting down to this.
I’ve played this out so many times in my head I started adding background music.
Entire days, even nights, slowly and detailed—how many pieces I could make him into before I got bored. Sometimes I laughed, sometimes I got hard. Guess it depended on the mood.
Once I imagined nailing his tongue to the floor, asking questions he couldn’t answer just to taste the panic in his eyes. Then peeling his face off, stapling it to the wall like a trophy.Maybe that would make her laugh. It would makemelaugh for sure.
People love to kneel for mercy, act like it’s sacred, like it’s something you earn by being good and quiet.
That’s bullshit.
Pain is the real gospel. Pain never lies, never softens the message, never pretends you’re anything but what you are.
And today, I feel chosen.
Today, I’ve got a sermon to deliver, and there’s nothing in this world that could save him.
“Ken doll, I’m talking to you!” Cain barks at me, interrupting my daydreaming.
“What?” I grumble.
He scoffs, his eyes rolling back.
“Are we going?” Judas asks.
Ah, this motherfucker’s ready for bloodshed, and he’s still buttoned up like he’s about to bless the bullets. Black shirt, black slacks, white collar spotless. Priest to the end, even with murder in his eyes. Sanctified, certified, and itching to commit a holy fucking crime.
I cock my head. “You sure you remember how to hold one of those? I mean, you were okay when you trained Cain.” My tone’s lazy, drawling, like I’m bored and need him to entertain me. “Kinda figured your hands would’ve forgotten, after all that time jerking off to old war stories?—”
He snaps.
Slams into me, knocks me flat, easily and effortlessly.
I crash into the floor, staring straight down the barrel of a gun.
My gun.
The fuck? When did he?—?
