“Twelve million,” my dad’s voice lowers in a sexual hue. “Can I get fifteen?” But as soon as he asks the question, the glass to my right shatters from a gunshot. I scream in surprise, and through the glass I can hear shocked gasps and murmurs.
I glance up to see Knives there, holding the neck of a stranger, a star to his throat.
My heart leaps into my throat.
“Sold,” Knives says, slicing the blade across the man’s neck until he is bleeding out.
I flinch when another glass wall breaks from another bullet, and Slingshot is standing there. I’ve never seen him use his weapon besides to launch skittles, but when he does use it, it’s a sharpened rock that’s thrown. It hits the guy against the temple, and when he falls backward unconscious, Slingshot snaps his neck.
Another window breaks.
And another.
Then another.
All the Kings are there, their boots crunching against glass as they kill every single threat. Bullseye’s dart hits a man between the eyes, Tool shoves his screwdriver into a man’s throat, Tongue cuts out another villain’s tongue, then walks to every room to do the same to the others, and Reaper appears.
With my father in his clutches.
“Mary!” Knives drops down from the window, landing on his feet, and slowly standing like some sort of superhero. “You’re okay? Did he hurt you? Christ, he did. Look at your neck, Hellraiser—” He swings me into his arms and kisses me all over my face until our lips meet. “I was so goddamn worried about you.”
I suddenly realize I’m weeping. Big, heaving sobs rack my body. But he is here. He rescued me. He is keeping me safe. Knives’ strong, muscular arms hold me tight, and I am able to calm down and lose myself in his grip again.
I finally gather the strength to open my eyes and look at him. He looks horrible. His hair has grown out, his beard is longer and scraggly, which is not like him, and he has dark circles under his eyes.
“My dad liked to use his belt on my neck every day and masturbate until he got off.”
“Did he…”
I glance away, ashamed, but shake my head. “He only jacked off on me after watching me struggle against his belt,” I say, lifting my fingers to my black and blue neck.
“Only?” Knives growls. “Only?”
“What do you want to do?” Reaper says. “A quick death is too easy.”
My father is shaking. “No, no, wait! Wait! I have money. I have a lot of money. Mary, you won’t let them do this to me, right? You love me. You love me!”
“I hate you!” I don’t know what comes over me, but I steal Knives’ star, which is the one he gave me, his original one. The one he made when he was just fifteen. He must have found my jacket in the chaos of all this. Before I move another inch, Knives throws his jacket over me, and I make my way to Reaper.
But I can’t get up there.
Reaper grins, then pushes my father down. He hits the ground, lands on his back, and groans. Knives steps on his arms and Reaper jumps down, landing on his legs. One breaks from the force, and my father exhales a wail of pain.
“I hate you so much, it physically aches my bones,” I tell him as I straddle his stomach. “You want to kiss me?” I pinch his lips together with tears burning my eyes and, with the star, start slicing his lips off. I toss them to the side until all I see are teeth and gums.
Tongue laughs, giddy and excited to add to his collection.
“You stole my innocence. You raped me.” I slide back, unzip his pants, and squeeze his pathetic cock until I know it hurts.
“Please,” he cries. “Don’t.” The words are hard to hear, since he has no lips to speak with.
“You never listened to me! You never stopped! Twelve years!” Hot, fat tears drip down my cheeks. I yank his pants down and use the serrated edge of the star to cut his dick off. My father screams in agony, and it is the most cathartic sound I have ever heard in my life. I throw the inches to Tongue, but he ignores it.
“I want Happy to eat it! I want nothing left of my father, you hear me? Nothing!” I scream, then with bloody hands, I stab him right in the heart, a tear falling from my chin to his exposed mouth. “You wanted me to love you. You sick, twisted bastard.”
“I’ll take it from here,” Reaper tells me gently, and Knives grabs my shoulders to steer me away.
“I want him so far gone, Reaper. I want him erased from the planet.” My entire body is shaking uncontrollably, and when I glance down at my hands, all I see is blood.
“You got it, Mary,” Reaper says, using the star embedded in the Preacher’s chest as he cuts to rips his heart out. “May the Devil chew you up and spit you out, and may God have no mercy on your soul.”
Knives turns me away, and my father’s screams sound eerily familiar to mine over the years. We walk out the door that I came in from, and the bodyguard that brought me to the stage is there, aiming a gun right in the middle of Knives’ chest.
I guess this is it. This is where I die to save Knives. It was worth it.
I do the only thing that enters my mind. I jump in front of him to take the bullet as the barrel rings release, but nothing ever comes.
I finally open my eyes to see Mason jumping in front of us, taking the shot in the chest. A gun in his own hand, he aims it at the guard and fires.
The guard falls to the floor in a useless giant heap when the bullet catches between his eyes.
“Mason! Mason, no. No!” Knives drops to the ground next to his brother, and I do the same, taking Mason’s hand in mine. “I just got you back. I was supposed to work out my feelings. You can’t… no,” Knives is full of denial as he presses his hand against the bloody wound on Mason’s chest. “We were supposed to be brothers again. What were you thinking taking a bullet for me, again?” Knives lifts Mason’s head onto his lap. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll be okay.”
“I wanted you to have the life you always deserved. It was me or Mary,” he wheezes, a hint of blood foaming his mouth. “It had to be me. You were right—” he coughs roughly, struggling to gain his breath, “—I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have found you. Consider this—” he coughs again, “—taking responsibility.”
“You saved her for me,” Knives cries. “Thank you.”
“I never stopped having your six, Knives.”
“Thomas. Call me Thomas.”
Mason grins, his face white as death and sweat dripping down his temples. “Thomas. My brother.”
“Your brother,” Knives says. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Mason. You can go. I’ll be okay. Thanks to you, I’ll always be okay.”
Mason locks eyes with me, another weak grin on his lips, and his hand falls on top of Knives’ that is pressing against his chest. And then his chest deflates as he exhales his very last breath.
“No,” Knives clutches his brother against him, hugging his dead body. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers.
The guys from the other room pile in. Reaper is soaked in blood, but he kneels down next to Knives and uncurls his fingers from Mason’s shirt. “It’s time to let go, Knives. We have to get out of here. We will bring him with us and have a proper burial.”