Violent Tendencies

Even with the silencer on, the popping noise seems to reverberate around the room, like an echo. Then Henry's screams of pain join in and I begin to sway with the melody.

"You crazy fucking bitch!" He screams as he holds the wound on his knee, blood oozing out between his fingers.

"Now you're beginning to get the right answers!" I giggle maniacally and prance on the spot. "Shall I reward you, Henry?"

He's moaning with pain, and when his eyes finally meet mine, I see the look of resignation in them. Like the fucker knows I'm here to kill him and that this was my plan all along.

"Get up on the table, Henry." My voice sounds as sweet as fucking sugar.

He shakes his head and let's it drop to his chest, "No."

"Oh no!" I exclaim, "That was another wrong answer!"

I cock the gun and his head snaps up quickly, "No! Wait!" But I've already put pressure on the trigger and there's no turning back.

The bullet slams into his shoulder and he falls back onto the concrete floor. He begins to writhe on the ground and I begin to twist a lock of hair around my finger while I wait for him to fucking stop screaming.

"Henry," I chastise. "I need you up on the table, please." Sweet as fucking pie.

He slowly rises to his feet, his hand clutching the wound on his shoulder and putting no weight on his shot knee.

"I need a doctor," he pants as he hops to the table and I come up behind him to shove him forward.

He hits the table with a grunt, and shouts when his knee feels the impact. Must hurt like a fucking bitch.

I hold the gun to his head and he stills when he feels the cold metal.

"Stay on your stomach and remove your pants," I speak low and slowly.

"What?" He mumbles and I press the gun harder into his skull. "Okay!"

He does as I say and struggles to remove his pants, his moans of pain making me laugh.

"Underwear too, Henry." I slap his ass. "Be a good little whore."

I see his shoulders begin to shake and I choke back a laugh at the thought of him crying. I can just imagine how many women and children he had in this very same predicament, crying just the same, and on this table no less. The thought is validating and I feel almost vindicated.

Almost.

He pulls off his underwear and I hear a quiet sob escape his chest. They all cry at the end, once they realize they can't beg their way out of it, they cry for mercy. I have yet to show any one of my targets mercy.

I round the top of the table and drag my gun across his head with me. Once I reach the other side, I see his eyes are tightly shut and he has tears coursing down his cheeks.

Boo hoo, little bitch.

"Henry," I say sweetly. "What's your favorite piece here on the board?"

His eyes open wide and he looks up at me, "No, don't."

"No? Don't?" I mock him. "Why would you purchase these if you don't like them yourself?"

His sobs become harder and I cackle as I watch him.

"I like this." I reach my hand out and brush my fingers along the large black silicone strap on.

He just shakes his head as I pull it off the board.

"No," he grits out and begins to lift himself off the table.