Page 47 of Ivy’s Poison

When that moment arrived, without warning, I dropped from the tree feet first. Tensing the muscles in my extended arms, I prepared for the unexpected onslaught. My blade crashed through the top of Meth’s skull before my feet touched the ground. He never saw me coming. He didn’t even have a chance to make a sound as I impaled him. It was the sound of me landing behind him that alerted the president and his wicked twin.

They spun around in time to see me yank my blade free from their friend’s head. As Meth slowly sunk to his knees, the rest of his body motionless, the moonlight shined on me as I winked at my next two victims then spun to my left to take cover in the darkness behind a wide tree trunk. Bullets sailed past me and sunk into the thick bark.

“Did I get him?” asked Sting.

“Shut the fuck up,” replied his brother.

I chuckled. “That reaction was a little slow, boys.” Leaves shuffled and crackled as they both took off in different directions for cover. I leaned my head back against the tree and moaned, practically getting an erection for the chase. “Yes, please put up a fight.” Then I growled, “Because I want to take my sweet time ripping you apart.”

As if God was helping me prove my point, a cloud blocked the moonlight.

Knowing my woods, I took off running in the dark. I had the upper hand and took full advantage of it. Hearing my footfalls getting closer to him, Sting yelled out, “Stain! Where are you?” I found pleasure in the fear echoing through the air. Sting kept running. Enough light snuck through branches so that I could see him peering over his shoulder. He saw me picking up speed. His hand wasn’t steady in the slightest, due to stumbling over fallen branches, but he still attempted to shoot me after coming to a halt.

I spun to the right and around another tree trunk, but never stopped. Before Sting could recover, I barreled into him as hard as I could. My size knocked him clear off his feet and his body slammed to the ground, his gun sliding from his hand due to the pressure. As he frantically reached for it while on his back, I reached over my shoulder and pulled my machete free from the strap on my back. I took no delay in swinging the big blade downward, severing Sting’s lower arm from his body.

Whaling in agony and grabbing at his nub, I heard his brother running up from behind me. I reached forward, grabbed Sting’s detached arm, and swung it to the left, twisting my upper body for power. Incredible timing had Sting’s hand smacking his brother’s pointed gun from his grip. Stain watched his weapon fly through the air before looking back to me and seeing his brother’s hand in mine. Stain roared and lunged at me. We both flew back, right on top of screaming Sting, blood splattering all over the three of us.

The president may have been an expert in torture, and he may have been cruel enough to kill anyone he chose to with the proper backup, but, alone, he was no match for me when it came down to hand to hand combat. Laying on his brother, I punched Stain twice in the face to stun him. “My hands are free this time, you fucking cocksucker.”

Blood spurted from his nose and upper lip as he rolled off me and struggled to get to his feet, appearing slightly dazed.

I jumped to my feet, not paying much attention to the twin crying like the pussy he was. “Stain! He took my fucking arm!”

Prez yelled, “Get up! Fight!” while squaring up against me.

Sting sounded beyond disturbed as he fought to get to his feet. “Where’s my hand?” This reminded me how off-kilter he truly was, and had my instincts wanting my back protected.

As the injured twin stumbled backward into a tree, having lost incredible amounts of blood, I swiftly grabbed a knife from my hip and spun. Sting, still holding his oozing nub, gasped as my knife went through his shoulder, pinning him to the tree. “Fuuuuuuuck!” he screamed in agony.

Totally prepared for this move to send Stain into an insane rage, I quickly stepped to the side and faced my enemy as he missed me and slammed into his brother. The wicked twin screamed as the president deepened the knife in the shoulder.

Face to face, Sting whisper-cried, “Help me.”

Panting for air and courage, Stain grabbed the handle of the knife and yanked it from his brother’s shoulder. He twirled to face me then charged. In speed not expected for a man of my size, I crouched low and shouldered his running legs. Stain flipped in the air over my head and landed on his back, air rushing from his impacted lungs.

As he lay on the ground, stunned yet again, I stood, faced him, then took a step back. Pulling a knife from my other hip, I said, “For my Ivy, and all you did wrong to her.” I didn’t even bother to peek behind me before ramming the blade backward.

From the ground, Stain reached out to his brother. “Nooooooooo!”

With a calm satisfaction, I stepped to the side to reflect on my actions. I dipped my head in a goodbye while watching Sting take his last breaths. Blood was now dripping from his gaping mouth as he, with the only hand he had left, slowly reached for the blade in his stomach, also impaling him to the tree.

Stain fumbled to his feet, muttering, “No. No…” and made his way back to his brother. “Sting.”

The twin coughed up blood before his legs gave out, his weight pulling him and the knife from the tree. Stain caught his brother, then watched him die in his arms.

I didn’t interfere. I rather enjoyed the painful and shameful moment their lives had come to. It brought comfort to see their demise, one life at a time, knowing I was a part of the gruesome ending they so deserved.

Stain’s back was to me as his shoulders slumped forward. “You’ve taken everything from me.”

“Not everything. You’re still breathing.”

He stood, refusing to face me. “If there’s a God, I hope he lets me kill you before I die.”

Pulling a strap from my back pocket, I walked to him. “There’s a God, but he’s not on your side.” I peered down, for only a moment to tie his hands behind his back. “Someone wants to see you before I kill you.”

“I know,” he said in surrender. “She’s here.”

My eyes snapped up to see Ivy standing in front of her father, tears streaming down her face, madness in her eyes. She was trembling, her teeth gritting together as if slipping into an insane state of mind. A knife, one I had hidden in the house, was in her shaking hand. It was pointed at his gut. Her left eye twitched and her head tilted. “You put a hit on my baby’s head?”