But he doesn’t need to worry about those things.

I inject directly into the heart. His head snaps forward in wide-eyed misery as he comes back to reality.

Walking back to the bag, I pull out a small bottle of morphine.

His hands are stretched high above his head and he hangs from the ceiling supports. It doesn’t help with injecting the pain meds.

Shrugging my shoulders, I push the medicine into a vein throbbing on the left side of his neck.

The drugs must work pretty damn well because his eyes lose that pain-filled haze and slowly begin to focus on me. I didn’t give him much though, just enough to dull the pain but not cloud the mind.

“Bart, I know you were one of us so I won’t send you to be fed to the pigs while you are alive. You get that much out of me. But Lucifer has a reputation to protect and so do I. I’m going to use you as a message to the Japs. You won’t be alive to give it to them, but I’m pretty sure they will understand it all the same.”

Pulling a scalpel from the bag, I first slice off his right ear then his left.

The screams are audible through the gag again and I’m tempted to do this after he dies, but I don’t think that would be the right thing. He betrayed Lucifer and put the wife and kids in jeopardy—that can’t be allowed ever.

But more importantly, he betrayed me and the men who serve our boss.

Taking out my anger again, I punch him in the mouth. I wince. Fuck, I think I hurt a knuckle with his teeth.

Shit, it’s time to finish this off. I need a cold beer and a very hot pussy after shit like this.

He passes out sometime after I stab his eyes out.

No sight, no hearing, and no talking. He will go to them as a good message of what is to come for daring to attack us. To dare attack our boss.

Slicing the rope that is holding him up, his body falls to the ground in an almost boneless fashion. He’s in the land of twilight now, not dead but almost.

I’ve never removed a tongue before and it makes my stomach quiver a bit.

My phone rings as I am unzipping my pants, my thick flaccid cock coming out of my boxers. “Fuck”

Walking over to my coat, I pull the phone out and walk back to the still-breathing body. I push connect at the exact moment I release a torrent of piss down on the bastard’s face.


“We’re here, Andrew.”

“Ah, okay. Come on back, I’m done here.”

My bladder comes to a stop as I finally empty it completely. Bart’s face turns towards me and he makes a loud, pitiful groan.

Kneeling down beside him, I say, “I hope you find even more torment in hell.”

Putting the pistol to his forehead, I pull the trigger, and again the roar of the gun is deafening to my ears.



One year later

Ivan’s baby blue eyes flick towards me, full of apology, as he focuses most of his attention on the phone pressed against his ear.

My eyes meet his and I keep expecting to feel something. To feel something more than this coldness that seeps inside of me.

Whoever he’s listening to must say something to make him angry because his eyes narrow, no longer focusing on me, and he speaks sharply in Russian.

Honestly, I don’t care that he has a phone call. Anything that pulls his attention away from me is a welcome relief.

I just want this stupid date to be over with.

Glancing down at my salad, I stab a piece of romaine lettuce a little more forcibly than required and push it into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Ivan continues to speak rapidly in Russian and I don’t understand a word he’s saying except for the name Lucifer.

I never considered Ivan the religious type. In fact, I’m pretty sure the guy is a ruthless, heartless criminal who would sell his own mother if given half a chance. But more and more often lately, I keep hearing that name.

Has Ivan suddenly taken up faith?

It doesn’t seem likely. Something else must be going on… Something that is pissing Ivan off.

Dropping my fork, I push my plate away and pick up my glass of wine. Slowly, my eyes glide over the room, taking in the upscale restaurant he brought me to. The décor is exquisite. Everything is done in white, gold, and sparkling crystal.

The clientele is impeccable; we’re surrounded by the crème de la crème of Garden City. I recognize the mayor, a few A-list actors, and a rising pop star.

Everyone is dressed like they’re ready to hit the red carpet or something—including the man sitting across from me.

Ivan looks like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine in his dark charcoal gray suit and blue silk tie. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, and he leans back in his chair. He is easily the most attractive man in the room, and it’s done effortlessly.

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