𝐒𝐲𝐧 ┃𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

91. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑇𝑜𝑦

Syn

I stared at the knife buried deep into the fucker's thigh, letting his screams play on like music in my head. The black handle of the blade was painted with intricate golden swirls twinkling as he thrashed against the chains. As if it was magically punishing him even further the more he fought. There was something so fucking beautiful in that. Having him suffer in the absence of my hand. I was sure if I just let him continue as he was the chains suffocating him would eventually snap his neck, but that was too easy. After everything he had done, easy was the last thing he deserved.

I sighed, leaning forward in the chair, rolling my eyes as he continued to cry. Man the fuck up. I hadn't even moved the damn knife from his leg. The sharp pain should've subsided to a throbbing ache that'd be hardly noticeable if he wasn't being a little bitch and flopping like a fish.

With one hand, I broke the heavy chain surrounding his neck and let it fall to the floor. He released a dramatic breath, heaving as he leaned into the chair, catching his breath. My fingers wrapped around the knife in his leg and I twisted it- it couldn't have been more than a centimeter but the scream that left him was fucking exquisite.

I smiled a bit, a part of me was relieved that I finally got to do this after all this time. Since the moment I met him and found out who he was to Queen, this was the position I wanted us in. I would've gladly done it then if I knew I wouldn't lose Queen.

But now I had an excuse. If we were being honest I had over two hundred excuses— one for every single life he took.

"Who are you?" I asked him again.

"Aiden!" He screeched.

"Okay, Aiden," I conceded with disbelief coating my tongue. "Do yourself a favor and don't take my leniency as a weakness right now. See..." I pulled out the knife and was rewarded with another scream as I sat back into the chair, "I'm a lot nicer than I used to be, believe it or not. I hurt a lot less people now- uh, Paris- what am I down to this year?"

"Maybe five less than last year," he replied. "Last year was one-thirteen and now it's one-o-eight."

"See?" I held the knife up. "I'm a changed man."

"Well," Paris spoke up. "We're less than halfway through the year—"

"That's beside the point." I continued with a small smile, twisting the small blade against my index finger as I looked at a suddenly alert Aiden. "Those people were minor inconveniences. People that caught me on a bad day...maybe stole something here or there— but you. You may be the worst I've ever seen and that's saying a lot."

He shook his head. "I don't—"

"Where in your fucking head..." I tapped the knife against the side of my temple, "do you see me just stopping with you after everything you've done, hm?" I questioned. "You played a part in the mass murder of my people. It's only fair that I come after yours...don't you think?"

"I swear I don't—"

"Your mother," I said. "She seems lovely. But lovely has never stopped me from...you know—"

"Don't touch—"

"Your father, too. But he's an ass, you don't care for him much from what I've gathered." I shrugged. "If you'd like I could I could take it slow with him. I won't kill him necessarily but he'll never be the same again."