Chapter 8

I hooked the handle of the bucket with my foot, grabbed it swiftly with my right hand, and flipped it upside down, slamming it over Wendy's head.

It was quick. Brutal.

Neither Wendy nor her lackeys saw it coming. Wendy gasped, choking on the filthy water, gagging as she tried to breathe. Her once-pristine face was already blistering from the burn.

She screamed in rage and panic.

"What are you idiots waiting for? Kill this b****!"

That snapped her crew into action. They all pulled out box cutters from their pockets, ready to charge.

Carl was the first to lunge at me, but I sidestepped him with ease.

The next second, I was behind him, grinning.

"Too slow. Let me show you what speed really looks like."

Grabbing his wrist, I slammed his hand onto the table, pinning it under the stapler. I pounded down on the stapler repeatedly.

Click. Click. Click.

"AHHH! My hand!"

The staples embedded themselves deep into his flesh until the stapler jammed against his bones. Blood oozed out, pooling on the desk.

Feigning terror, I threw my hands in the air, shouting, "Please don't hurt me!"

Then I bolted for the door, pretending to run away.

The morons thought I was scared and gave chase.

I waited behind the door. The moment one of them, the girl with the pockmarked face, poked her head through, I slammed the door shut as hard as I could.

BANG!

The door smashed into her face, twisting it into a grotesque shape. She staggered, clutching her head, and I kicked her square in the chest, sending her sprawling on the ground like a flipped-over turtle.

Carl burst through next, but I darted into the bathroom.

"She's cornered in the girls' bathroom!" Wendy shrieked. "Block the door! She's dead meat!"

I laughed quietly to myself.

They thought they had me trapped.

But I wasn't the one who was cornered.

The bathroom door locked behind them. Wendy, still fuming from the burns, inspected her face in a broken mirror.

"My face! You're going to pay for this, you little freak!"

She advanced toward me, her fury blinding her to the fact that I was backing away on purpose, luring her closer.

She thought I was my sister—weak, helpless.

She reached out to grab my shirt, but she didn't realize that her attack range was also my attack range.

I swung my fist like a hammer, smashing it into her face.

The blistered skin on her cheek burst open, yellow fluid spilling out. The raw, red flesh underneath glistened in the dim light, and a layer of translucent skin hung loosely from her face.

I smiled.

Back when we slaughtered pigs for New Year's, three punches were all I'd need to knock one out cold. But I wasn't done playing with her yet.

Wendy screamed, clutching her face, too scared to touch her wound.

I grabbed my phone, threw an arm around her shoulder, and turned the camera on her mangled face.

"Say cheese," I said.

"Go to hell!" she spat.

"Not happy?" I tilted my head. "That's disappointing."