Kissable Assassin

Chapter 7

When my time comes, forget the wrong that I’ve done. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. Don’t resent me when you’re feeling empty. Keep me in your memories. Leave out all the rest.

Jack and Josh Jefferson are both tied to small metal chairs we happened upon. It was actually easier than I thought it would be to do it. Yes, they put up a fight, but evidently Lindsay and I proved to be stronger. I'd taken Jack myself and tied him up with some bungee cords I found and Lindsay had Josh while I punched him and wrung his hands up too. The two years of vigorous practice paid off. Lindsay was good, but showed to pale in comparison to. Both of their arms were tied behind their backs and their feet were tethered to the legs of the chairs, and on top of that, their mouths were gagged. Lindsay was pilfering from their cash register, taking everything she could find and putting it in the back of the car.

"You can grab a new knife if you want. I don't think you need any guns at the moment," Lindsay says. Slightly excited, I roam the store, now full of yelps and whimpers from the Jefferson's, looking at their collection of blades. I liked my switchblade, but a new knife would be nice for the more conspicuous jobs. I raise an evil looking ballistic knife from its display case and inspect it between my fingers.

"Donmth throuch thrat!" Jack yells through his gag. Lindsay and I both shoot him a death glare. He was daring and crazy to yell at me in his state. And I didn't like it. Lindsay could tell this, and she raises an eyebrow at me expectantly. Rolling my eyes in annoyance, I stride over to him, not really wanting to, but wanting to show Lindsay that I wasn't weak. I rip his gag downward, getting up near his face.

"I'm sorry, but what did you say?" I muse in a sweet voice.

"I said, don't touch that!" He says cockily. I quickly and sharply bring my new dagger up on his cheek, making a fast, thin slice that would leave a meager scar from his cheekbone to his chin. The thin slash started to redden before dribbling out a little blood. I smack the other side of his face and put the gag back in place before Lindsay saunters over. She kneels in front of Josh and whips out her ballistic. With an almost seductive smile, and leans forward. She brings the blade up to his shoulder before sitting on his lap, her thighs straddling either side of him. He was quivering under her, under the metal as she presses the blade into his skin, piercing it harshly. He yelps from under his matching gag.

She looks at me expectantly, saying, "Time to play." I take her lead and remain standing as I lean over and point my knife directly in the center of Jack's chest. His eyes are full of fear. I never really did this. I was more...seductive. I didn't play with my boys. Lindsay is trailing the knife down his arm, creating a deep gash that makes him cry out every now and then. No wonder they needed recruits from us. They were helplessly weak. I begin my segment of torture, or playtime, with my switchblade slicing evenly through the skin on his chest. His muscles clench as I drag it slowly downward, a little blood dribbling from it as I went. He starts shaking around in his chair, trying to get away, but Josh only causes the gash's straight line to waver uneasily. He breathes in a sharp breath of pain, but I continue. It actually pains me to do this, and I actually would rather do what I was used to, but I didn't stop. My knife stops at his stomach, and I consider spilling his guts. I look to Lindsay.

"Can I just kill him now?" I ask.

"No! We have more to do! They need to be begging for death before we do it!" I look back at him, and he shakes his head, like he was never going to do that. This would be a long night.

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Jack's dead already. He begged right after Lindsay had broken all of his fingers, dislocated his wrist, snapped his elbow, pulled the entire arm out of his shoulder socket, and sliced viciously across his back. Josh remained strong with gashes on every limb, six bruises on his face, three broken ribs, some hair ripped out, an intricate design on his chest, and his initials carved in a huge font on his back. He was so, so weak though. He could barely move. He could hardly even speak. It was only when he could find the strength to look up at me and Lindsay.