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You Are Mine, Little Sister 115
It took me more reasoning to realize he had something in his palm. My candy.Oh, god.The tightness in my chest loosened, then bled into something worse—an ache with teeth. His scent reached me first: smoke, cedarwood, whiskey, and the traitor in my chest twitched like it recognized home.Mum and dad weren't home. They had an appointment with the doctor and had to leave early. So, right now, it was just both of us.He set the candy back on the desk with a careful tap, his gaze following it.The candy... the memories it brought in this very room.My fingers locked harder around the door. I'd rehearsed this moment in a hundred versions of my head; none of them told me what to do when it finally arrived.What was he going to do to me? Hurt me? Drag me back home?I knew he'd be furious that I left, but I couldn't say I regretted my decision—even though that decision had been haunting me."You left this." His voice walked a chill up my spine.Still backing me, he tapped the sketchpad on th
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It wasn't until my bedroom door clicked shut that the ache I'd been suffocating under the table came tearing out. It pressed against my ribs, made my knees weak.I went to the desk with shaky fingers and dragged my sketchbook open. I let the pencil move before my heart split, let it bleed shapes onto the page.Ten minutes later, I had four rumpled pages on the floor. I groaned, lifted the sketchbook, and slammed it down against the desk hard enough for the sound to rattle the glass of water nearby.Damn it.Perhaps, it'd have been better if I had my sketchpad with me. There were some saved designs I could've gotten inspiration from.Lies, Rali.My hair spilled around me as I let my head collapse onto the table, wishing I could smudge out the noise of my own mind and steal a moment's rest.The phone startled me. Normally, I'd have flinched, thinking it was 'him.' But it wasn't possible. This was a new line in a new phone."Hey, Ver." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose."Rali. How
You Are Mine, Little Sister 113
VOIDThe air reeked of whiskey, sweat, and bad luck, the kind of stench you only get when men gamble away their dignity with the same hands they use to shuffle cards.I sat in the corner, bourbon burning down my throat, watching four fools huddle around a table, acting like kings with a few cards in their hands.On the table, chips and cash piled high, even a gold watch someone had thrown in when he ran out of money.The first man, big with sweat soaking his shirt, slammed his cards down. Pair of eights. Not bad, but not good enough.The second, thin and twitchy, chewed his lip as he laid his cards. Three of a kind. A low whistle cut from the crowd as he raked in a small pile of chips with a smug.The third leaned back in his chair, his teeth flashing gold when he smiled. He spread his cards in a straight flush and the room broke into cheers.I sipped my bourbon as I watched the winner dragged the pile of chips toward himself.One of the loser's face went red. "Son of a bitch!"
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"You psychopathic monster!" My voice broke on the edges of fury and grief. "How dare you? How could you kill him?"He didn't flinch. Calmly like I was some TV noise, he reached for a new glass, pouring with steady hands. The faint slosh of wine taunted me.Fury burnt hotter in my chest. I tried to reach for the glass, but his rough hand closed around my wrist, bringing me to a stop.His eyes flickered with a cold fire. "You touch my glass again and I'll make sure you don't recognize your hands when I'm done with them."The door clicked open and closed behind us, the trio slipping out and leaving me trapped with the monster.Hot tears pricked my eyes, blurring the monster before me. When he finally released my wrist, the ghost of his grip still throbbed in my bones.He went back to his wine while I stood there, breaking apart."Who the fuck made you a judge, huh!?" I screamed in frustration. "What did Grayson actually do that was so different from what you've done to me? At least, he d
You Are Mine, Little Sister 111
The pliers hovered over his index finger. "This one looks proud. Doesn't it, Grayson? Always pointing. Always dishing out orders. Tell me, would this finger have been the first one you shoved inside her if you'd had the chance?"I didn't wait for an answer. The pliers clamped down, biting into the nail, and his whole body jerked. His throat ripped itself raw around a sound that wasn't even a scream, more like a dying animal's groan.I twisted until the finger fell off his hand.Veins bulged across his neck as he writhed in the chair, gasping out between curses. "Fuck! OH, FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK!?"The fear was there now, shining plain in his eyes. Somewhere inside him, I knew a voice was already whispering how 'serious' this was.While he whimpered, I turned back to the table where my collection lay in neat rows."You're sick, man," he said, like I hadn't worn that diagnosis into my skin a thousand times already."Are you seriously fighting for her? The girl doesn't even acknowledge you.
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VOIDConsciousness never comes gently. It drags.I watched the struggle ripple through him: fingers twitching first, then the shallow pull of breath against the gag of leather across his chest. His eyelids fluttered, fighting the weight of sedation.I didn't rush him. Half the fun is in the crawl. The slow realization and dread that seeps bone-deep before words ever enter the picture.I sat opposite him, one ankle lazily hooked over the other knee, cigar smoldering between my fingers while I let him wrestle his way back to awareness.His head lolled forward again, chin hitting his chest with a dull thud. Then, the chair creaked as his body twitched against the straps, his wrists instinctively jerking before the rope bit down harder.I watched as the haze began to clear from his face. His lashes fluttered, his lips parted like he was about to speak, but the only thing he managed was a wheeze.His eyes finally lifted. Thank fuck.I leaned back, letting the cigarette burn between my
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