Trouble in Hell (Hell Night 1)

As Ryland struggles and claws at my hand cutting off his airway, JW tugs down the bastard’s shorts and tosses them to the side.

“You know—” I lean down in his face and say casually, “—I was going to make this fast and simple, but after seeing what you did to that little girl, I think I’ll draw it out a bit.”

His throat muscles work frantically under my palm as he desperately tries to draw in air. I loosen my fingers just enough that he doesn’t pass out.

“You’ve got two choices. You can tell me where that girl is, and I don’t cut off your dick and feed it to you, or—” I pause for effect, “—you can keep quiet, and you see just what it feels like to have a dick forced down your throat.”

When he opens his mouth and only a wheeze comes out, I relax my hold just a little more.

“I-I’ll tell you,” he croaks, his pudgy body shaking on the table. The sight of his naked sweaty flesh repulses me.

When he doesn’t say anything else, I pull the big knife from the belt around my black cargo pants. It gleams in the light reflected from the computer monitor.

His face pales when he sees it and he stutters out an address just on the Oklahoma side of the state line. I look up at JW and see he’s typing something into his phone. I tighten my hand back around Ryland’s throat and lift the knife. A sinister smile forms on my lips as his eyes glaze over in terror. I bring the knife down quick and with force, until it imbeds in the wood, only an inch from his face.

“What are we going to do to him?” JW asks casually, pocketing his phone.

I bare my teeth and gaze down at the fucker in my grip. It would be so easy to just squeeze until I crush his larynx. The cartilage there is weaker due to his age, so it wouldn’t take much. But remembering the girl on the screen and the pain he’s caused my brothers, my sister, me, and countless other children, it won’t give us justice that we earned. He deserves to suffer more. A hell of a lot more.

“Something I think you’ll enjoy,” I answer, glancing at him. “Grab the chair.”

I yank Ryland up and his struggles renew. He’s old and much weaker than me, so I easily maneuver him into the chair he was just sitting in moments ago.

“Watch him,” I tell JW and walk off to the kitchen. I rummage around the drawers until I find what I’m looking for. When I walk back into the den a few minutes later, it’s to find Ryland a blubbering mess.

“P-please, please j-just let me go,” he cries pathetically. “I s-swear I w-won’t touch another child again.”

JW just ignores him and leans against the computer desk, his dark gaze penetrating Ryland. I walk behind the chair and reach around to grab his hands. When he attempts to jerk them away, JW, in a quick movement, lands a surprising punch to Ryland’s stomach. He hunches over, and I’m easily able to yank his arms back. After wrapping duct tape around his wrists several times, I move in front of him. He’s panting and sweat trickles down his cheeks, but he’s still awake.

Good. I want him conscious for this.

“Please tell me this is going to be bloody,” JW remarks, his excited eyes still on Ryland’s hunched form.

We may show a small amount of morals when we kill perpetrators who live in Malus, but when it comes to the people of our pasts, no fucking dice. We all take turns and pick and choose how we want to kill them. It’s my turn, and that’s the only reason JW’s letting me take the lead. How Ryland dies is up to me. Emo is normally the most brutal, but I feel a savage need to slaughter the man in front of me.

Knowing that he’s going to struggle at what’s coming next, I wrap tape around his chest and chair to hold him in place. Getting to my knees, I tape his legs to the legs of the chair. The repugnant stench of sweat and dirty body hits my nose. Being this close to him sickens me. I’m surprised the bastard hasn’t pissed himself yet.

“W-what are you g-going to do with me?” Ryland asks. When he lifts his head, drool drips from his mouth.

“What should have been done to you a long time ago,” JW answers cryptically for me.

Ryland’s face pales and it’s now that the fool pisses himself.

Fucking disgusting.

I jerk my head behind Ryland, “Hold the chair.”

JW does as I ask, and I walk over to the table and yank my knife from the wood. Ryland’s scared gaze watches as I walk back to him.

“Oh, God, please, please, please,” he begs hoarsely when he spots the knife.

“God can’t save you now,” I retort.

Making sure I don’t step in the piss on the floor, I stand in front of him. JW’s at his back, holding onto the chair. I glare down at the fucker and let every bit of hate I feel for him shine in my eyes. I want him to see the loathing and disgust I feel, and to know that one of the children he hurt so many years ago is the one who took his l

ife away. I do it for my brothers, my sister, and every other innocent life he’s touched with his sick hands.

My eyes lift to JW’s to see his jaw is tense. I know he wants to be part of this. He wants to be the one to snatch this fucker’s life away and hold it in his hands. I’ll give him his wish, just as soon as I’m finished.