Fighting back/Back Bile...Covenant Series, book six.
"He doesn’t spare the bastard as he shouts through the suits half busted microphone. “Come out here and take it, you fuck, otherwise I’ll come in there and drown you in the toilet like the rat you are.”
"The time between his outburst and when the door opens seems like an eternity, certainly longer than he should ever have to wait with a dislocated arm and a serious need to outrun the pigs who will come along and end his night on their terms."
"The vomit covered rat crawls out of the restroom looking like a five-year-old who just broke mother’s favorite lamp."
"The filthy little animal stoops and shuffles out of the restroom, he only straightens up when he reaches the only genuine hardwood piece of furniture in the entire place, the desk of whatever CEO was supposed to purchase casa de omicidio."
"Pak tries his hand at some words, something telling and worthless at the same time, something exactly like “I didn’t know, I’m sorry but I didn’t know...”
"He interjects, screaming through the suits broken microphone, “but nothing, but eat a fucking bullet. Get carved up like a prime rib dinner like you fucking deserve.”
"He takes a few steps toward his prize with the ax in his good hand when he hears her call out."
“Please. We have to be better than what was done to us! Let me take him in, he’ll stand trial and he’ll serve his time.”
"She’s partially right. He will stand trial, kangaroo style, with the distant sirens growing ever closer. Not that it will shut her up but he’s made most of them say it before the end comes anyway."
“My wife. Tell her what you animals did to her. The papers couldn’t say it.”
"The coward starts crying, openly, fresh streaks washing down his dust covered face."
"The show starts to make him sick but he isn’t quite ready to use the suits most disturbing new feature, not yet."
“Say it!” He howls out a command and the sniveling little shit begins to stutter and whine like a an over taxed engine."
“They…they took turns…I wasn’t…”
He howls, “Tell me you weren’t there one more time and I will take you apart, a piece at a time from the waist down!”
“They raped her, all of them. Some together in groups. Some used their guns. I heard her screaming, after the shots, after…the others, I turned the radio up.” Pak stops suddenly, he keeps looking up at the harsh florescent lights."
"The papers were perfectly fine explaining that much, it won’t do, it isn’t enough. It rarely is. She needs to hear the rest."
"He points to the restroom, keep going or you’re drowning in that toilet bowl."
"Pak blinks even more and looks directly at him, another and probably a final I wasn’t there stuck in his throat. Neither were the pigs he took apart, but they all knew. Everyone on the inside knew the new price you paid for crossing the Triad. Wasn’t that the point of it after all."
“She wasn’t dead, just passed out. They cut her open with a knife, I couldn’t make the radio any louder. They…pulled it out, and came out and we left.”
"He doesn’t look over his shoulder at her, The Raveness is still there, standing in the doorway as the sirens sound in the night, there’s something in her arms, he knows that much."
"He finishes the tale for the sniveling coward; he tells it the right way. “Ruth showed me the door a few weeks before that. I was half mad with revenge for what these fucking animals did to Mira. I couldn’t let it go and she saw that much. She was good, and kind, and she didn’t want my shit staining the carpets. That means I wasn’t there. I would have been. I would have died with the rest of my family. Angry, scared, covered in blood, probably chopped up slow too, but I would have been there and I would have gone with them.”
“Instead, they locked me in a drunk tank and let a bus load of Triad muscle I had put away run a train on me, just like they did Mira without the bullet at the end of the ride. I didn’t get back to the house until it was all cold and dried into the carpets and bed spreads. Our carpets were brown, my bed spread was white, not anymore, everything was dark red and black and yellow and green and it all smelled like spent shells and copper. My Ruth was there on our bed, ashy, spent up, gutted like a fish kill.”
“We were going to name her Mira. Ruth liked Karen but I insisted, I always did, and she always gave in at the end. She was tiny, pruned up, and she had this…little crown of hair around head. They hung her with the umbilical cord and left her dangling off the end of the bed.”
"Saying it out loud, again, makes the next part easy. It always does."
“Ma’am. You tell me to be better than what was done to me. Well, I am. Not even five minutes ago you were howling at that big animal out there, asking him why he didn’t just die already. Ordering it yourself and in some small part hastening that end because he hurt your friend. Maybe you thought he killed it. Does that matter?”
“I know, and I’m sorry, I can’t let you kill him, I just can’t.”
"He sighs, he lets it out slowly and he reaches up to the small touch pad on his collar bone."
"He feels that awful gnawing, like something with too many legs and far too many teeth is rooting into his brain through his rotten skull. Using the device feels dirty, wrong, sick, and that has to mean something coming from an animal that has mutilated an entire room full of people, turning them into demented furniture and sick artistic statements."
"He turns his attention partially away from Pak, just enough to see her standing in the doorway, cradling her pet. Eye contact, just the smallest amount, that’s all it takes. He looks at her and her gaze meets his and its done."
"He’s not sure if just thinking the words does it and he hasn’t tried that yet so he speaks his commands out loud, “Use the elevator and get a block away from here, then call someone to help you and your friend. Someone you trust.”
"He can see that small moment of bewilderment and anger before her face goes blank and she starts heading for the elevator. He’s a monster, a murderer, a mad man to be sure. He’s sat in a broiling hot room, this room, talking the mutilated corpse of his foe and pontificating the meaning of it all. He’s never been a rapist though, and that’s exactly what this feels like. Forcing your mind over someone else’s. His generous benefactor is a whole other continent of insanity and the toys he offers of late are from the land of the truly lost."
"Those distant sirens aren’t so distant now and he turns his attention back to Pak “Low Dose” Wei. The vomit covered little rat is still staring at him with those pleading eyes."
"He makes eye contact with the miserable shit and holds the ax out to him. “Take this and take the elevator down to the lobby. Hide and wait for the cops to show up, kill as many of them as you can before they shoot you to pieces.”
"He holds out the ax with his good hand and watches as Pak takes it from him and makes his way to the elevator and the suicide by cop that he will be committing in a few minutes."
"No one should have this power. Even God gave us free will for a reason."
"He considers this new, awful suit and shrugs as he works his way down the stairwell to the alley exit on the first floor. His diversion is resting cool and ready for the pigs to breach the building and its no consolation for him. It’s a quick death for Pak Wei, one he gets to watch and experience in locked horror as it unfolds, but still quicker by far than the slow hacking to pieces under a Manhattan street lamp death he had planned for the little shit."
"Another ending occurred to him too. A simple step through those broken windows of the main suite. He and Pak could have jumped together. That stubborn old MP in him won’t just die altogether though. Meeting the Raveness reminds him of something. There is evidence, a chain, a list and links, a ledger and a number of foreign bank accounts. He has to stay alive just long enough to get all those ducks in a row and sent it all off to those who can really put the final nail in the coffin for the Triad, domestically speaking. That much he can do her way before the victory dance comes."