Through the Eyes of Desperation: The Red Version by ARON BEAUREGARD

Author:ARON BEAUREGARD [Beauregard, Aron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bad Dream Books
Published: 2024-03-01T07:00:00+00:00

A GAME OF DEATH

“A split for a split,” the dealer said.

Red looked at Lane. A gawk of fear dominated the man’s face as he watched a woman in a queen of spades outfit continue to clean up the mess the jacks had made. She used a tether-free, Bissell vacuum cleaner to suck the blood and bits of body off the carpeting.

The once clear water inside the device looked like cherry juice. After the queen sucked what was left of the sludge up, the jacks placed the destroyed pieces of the soccer mom’s body into a plastic-lined bin that sat atop the dolly the queen had wheeled in. She remained silent, nodding to thank the jacks before setting the vacuum inside the cart and pushing it out of the tent.

“Hopefully, you gentlemen have better luck than she did,” the dealer said. She glared at Lane, already asking the question with her eyes. “Anyway, clean-up’s over now. What’ll it be?”

As he continued to perspire, Lane looked at his hand, then back to the dealer’s.

Lane’s hand: ten, five.

Dealer’s hand: one card facedown, seven.

“Quickly, please,” the dealer said.

“I’m-I’m thinking!” Lane yelled.

Red could see he was panicking but didn’t know how he could help. He was busy doing the same as he thought about his own hand.

“What the fuck do I do?” Lane asked.

“I wish I knew,” Red said. “If she’s got ten under there, you’re fucked.”

“Yeah,” Lane whispered. “I-I gotta hit, right?”

“Hit it is!” the dealer said dropping a card down.

“Wait!” Lane screamed.

It was too late. The card fell beside his hand.

King.

“Bust!” the dealer yelled.

“But I didn’t even⁠—”

The spiked blackjack club slammed into the back of Lane’s skull before he could finish his protest. The jack of clubs held his neck against the table as he raised his weapon again.

Instantly, Red saw the tiny holes the spiked blackjack had made in Lane’s cranium. The back of his head was warped from the blow. Blood pissed down his neck and all over the table.

“No!” Red yelled, trying to pull Lane away from the murderous figure. But one jack took hold of his arms. He continued to plead but was forced to watch the graphic onslaught.

The other jack of spades removed a miniature sword from under his garb. He jammed the point of the instrument violently into Lane’s lower back. The spade tip penetrated and cut into his spine, rendering his limbs inoperable.

The studded blackjack found the back of his skull a dozen more times. With each blow, the steel studs pulled more flesh away until the tissue and hair once attached to the back of his head had devolved into a disgusting mush.

As the club slammed into the wet brains, more broken bone became exposed. Transparent juice was forced out of the organ, and blood sprayed all over Red.

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