Bent, Not Broken(8)

He threw it on the bastard; he loved it when Bruce sputtered awake and started coughing as he inhaled some of the water. When Bruce caught sight of Joker, he started struggling against his bindings, but there was no fucking way was he getting out of the knots Joker had tied. He watched Bruce struggle and scream out, and then amusement filled Joker.

“You sorry piece of shit. We are out in the middle of nowhere.” After he had knocked Bruce the fuck out, he’d driven an hour out of town to this secluded spot. “Ain’t no one hearing your soon-to-be dead ass.”

The rapist sputtered out pleas that he was a changed man, but Joker blocked everything else out. He took a step back, took off his cut and T-shirt, and grinned over at the tools on display. He’d be using many of them on this asshole and enjoying every second of it. He picked up his joint again, inhaled from it, and blew the smoke out softly until a cloud covered his vision. It dispersed, and he grabbed a pair of brass knuckles from the tray, slipped them on, and moved back to Bruce.

“I didn’t mean to do anything to Amy. She’s my daughter and I love her—”

Joker didn’t let him finish; he cracked him in the side of the face with the knuckles. “You don’t talk about her, think about her, or fucking say her name. She is no one to you anymore and least of all your fucking daughter.” He hit Bruce again until blood sprayed out of his nose and mouth. The rancid shit got on Joker’s chest, but he didn’t care. He wanted blood running down his chest, wanted it covering the ground, and draining the life right out of this rapist pedophile.

“Please, stop,” the man sputtered out. Blood dripped out of his nose and mouth and fell onto his chest and the ground. His shirt was already soaking in the shit, but it didn’t matter, because he’d be deader than a damn doornail soon enough.

Joker swung out again without responding and connected the brass knuckles with Bruce’s face again. He felt power move through him when Bruce’s nose cracked. The rapist howled in pain and tried to get up, but all he accomplished was falling to the side, still tied up like a hog. Something inside of Joker broke, and he reared his leg back and kicked Bruce hard enough that the chair and Bruce’s entire body skidded to the other side of the room. He stalked forward, but not before he grabbed a blade from the tray. Yeah, he had wanted to prolong this, but this evil feeling inside of him rose up, demanding that he finish it. Amy deserved peace, and he knew she’d get it once this waste of space was finished.

Bruce howled out in pain, struggled against his bonds, but then started to slowly still as Joker moved forward. He hauled Bruce up, took the knife and cut Bruce free, and then immediately strung him up on the meat hook that he’d rigged up for this special occasion. Blood continuously flowed, and a small pool settled on the floor beneath him.

“Amy kept saying stop, didn’t she?” He hit Bruce again, and again, and once more until the prick as now hanging on to the ropes that bound him. “But you are one sick motherfucker, and couldn’t, stop could you? You wanted to see how far you could push her.” He took the knife and dragged it across the asshole’s cheek, watching as the skin opened up.

“But you didn’t stop for her, and I bet you didn’t know someone would come calling all these years later, ready to extract revenge in her name.” Joker stopped talking and shook his head. He inhaled deeply for a moment, trying to get the image of Amy, scared and crying, out of his head. The rage that came over him stole his breath away, stole his very fucking sanity. He had said he didn’t need liquor, but seeing a crying Amy in his head almost did him in. He turned and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter, popped the cap, and took a long drink from it.

“No, you’re not passing out yet, fucker,” Joker said through his teeth. He took one more drink and put the bottle down. “I wanted to make this last, but I better end this now before you pass out again and can’t feel how much I make you hurt.” He grabbed a serrated knife, ran his finger over the blade, and walked over to the man who had hurt the woman Joker loved. He grabbed Bruce’s chin, turned his beaten face up so he was forced to look at Joker, and growled out low. He felt feral, felt like he was going to snap even further until he couldn’t control himself enough to enjoy this.

Joker took the blade and ran it along each side of the asshole’s face, watched the blood pool and slip down his flesh. He would be dead soon, and then he’d focus on making Amy his.

“You made my woman afraid of being with me.” Joker stabbed Bruce in the gut. “Your death will make her rest easier, breathe at night, and not flinch and push me away when I want to comfort her.” He felt rage burning brightly inside of him. Joker moved the blade up, opening up Bruce’s stomach, and taking the blade out to press it to his neck.