22. Her psycho

Ares

I snapped his finger.

The third one from the left, right at the first knuckle, until it broke backward.

“Her favorite color is blue,” I said to the man screaming in pain underneath me.

He thrashed around like some sort of dying fish, in his cashmere suit and thousand-dollar pants that he had pissed already.

I snatched a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, grabbing another knuckle. “You should know that.”

“You’re a fuckin’ psychopath,” he screamed at me. “Let me go.”

“Did you let her go?” I asked into his ear, cracking another knuckle. “No, you held on to her for thirty-seven minutes. Your disgusting fingers were all over her body, touching the woman who is mine, and now, I have to take care of you.”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about! Let me go!”

“Let you go?” I chuckled lifelessly. “Oh, no, I can’t do that and risk you sleeping with her again, can I? I’m going to have to kill you now. You should know not to touch another man’s woman. And if you don’t, you’ll f