the country that they torture war criminals often and use pretty fucked up methods to do so. The public isn’t ignorant by any means, but they sure as fuck don’t know the extent of the depravity of our government either. His eyes widen comically when he catches sight of the screwdriver. I smile. “Haven’t gotten to use this one yet,’ I observe, twisting the screwdriver and giving us both a good view of each sharp point. Once this sucker goes in, it’s going to hurt even worse taking it out. I can’t fucking wait. “Bro, let’s talk about this. That girl is not worth you killing me over. Do you realize what my family will do to you? To her?” “Did you really think I was going to kill just you?” I volley back, quirking a brow to show how unimpressed I am with his warning. His face turns beet red, like the apples my mother used to pluck for me from the orchard as a kid. Always loved those things. Threats spill from his mouth, fueled by rage from his family’s untimely fate. “You’re doing this because I almost fucked a girl?! I didn’t even fucking know she was yours,” he bellows, veins popping from his forehead. Not a pretty sight. In response, I stab the screwdriver straight into his stomach. He gapes at me, his mouth parted in shock. A moment passes, and then he’s coughing up blood. An array of emotions filter through his eyes. Pretty sure I see the five stages of grief in there, too. I bend down and grit out through my teeth, “What you and every sad motherfucker that even looks in her direction will learn is no one is safe when it comes to her. I don’t care if you only breathed in her direction the wrong way, you will fucking die.” “You’re fucking crazy,” he chokes out, looking down at the screwdriver sticking out of his abdomen in disbelief. Definitely hit vital organs this time. Slowly, I pull the screwdriver out, the suctioning noise quiet against the backdrop of his scream. The unbridled anger pulsating through me is relentless—unstoppable. And the image of his hand in her pants, kissing her, whispering shit into her ear, and making her come. It all fuels the violent storm in my head. I plunge the screwdriver back in when the image flickers of her face. Wanting him back. Climaxing for a shitstain like him. I’Il have to erase his touch from her. And soon. I rip out the screwdriver and take a deep breath. I have to remind myself she doesn’t know me yet. She doesn’t understand what true need is. Not yet, but she will. Because she’s going to hate the way she needs me. She’s going to fight it,