Jester bends over to study Sundance’s mouth. “Molars hurt more.”
Yes, they do.
We work as a team, Jester and I. He holds Sundown steady while I tug two more teeth from the fucker’s mouth. The gargled screaming echoes throughout the mill. It drones on and on until Sundown is hoarse as the synthetic agony of the ket overlaps and intensifies the genuine pain of my crude dental work. And when I’m done, and he’s missing two upper molars, Sundown chokes on a miserable sob, and his eyes drift closed. I give him a solid slap across the face because, no. He doesn’t get to pass out.
He doesn’t get to miss a fucking moment of this.
“Wake up, asshole.”
Jester comes around to stand in front of Sundown. Bends at the waist and snorts right in his face. “You thought you could take a nap? My dude, this is your party. The guest of honor doesn’t get to sleep.”
Sundown whimpers, blood and saliva spitting from his ruined mouth. His shoulders are hunched, and he can barely hold his head up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“Unreal.” I stroll to the toolbox and roll it closer. Set the bloody pliers on top. Then I grab a hammer before strolling back. I position the tool under his chin, forcing his head up. “At least look me in the eye when you babble your worthless apology.”
He swallows hard and coughs on the sludge that slides down his throat. “Okay,” he breathes. “Fuck. I knew he’d kill you both.” His watery eyes shift from Jester back to me. “I knew.”
“Why?” I demand between gritted teeth.
He squeezes his eyes closed. “I don’t fucking know.” He reopens them. “The money? I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Jester shoves me out of the way and steps in front of Sundown. There’s a manic gleam in his amber eyes, one I’ve rarely seen. Thing about Jester is that he hides his psychotic side behind humor. People take him as less of a threat than the rest of us, but he’s just as lethal—just as deranged. “Havoc is the closest thing Faith and I have to a brother. And Kerri? She’s a sister to us. So, when he’s done hurting you, it’s my turn. And I won’t play nice.”
I move Jester aside and crouch to get to eye level with him. “I gotta thank you, Sundown. See, the thing is, I didn’t realize how much I cared about Kerri until I saw George sneaking around the Death Star. When confronted with the reality of someone hurting her, it made me get in touch with my feelings. You understand what I’m talking about. It’s sort of like how you’re getting in touch with your feelings now.” I stretch to my full height and turn to Jester. “Speaking of getting in touch with things… How about a game of whack-fuck?”
Jester’s mouth twists into a sadistic grin. “You’re speaking my language, Havoc.” Then he gives me a playful punch to the shoulder. “And everyone knows you love her, you big softy. You make it kinda obvious the way you’re all googly eyes anytime she’s around.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Then to Sundown. “So, this game is simple. I swing, ergo,whack. You get hit, hence,fuck.”
And that’s all the warning this jerkoff gets.
I bring the hammer down, shattering Sundown’s left kneecap. Jester’s exaggerated groan of mock sympathy echoes almost as loud as Sundown’s wail. Wasting no time, I swing again, destroying the fucker’s right knee. I step back and survey him. Take aim. Step forward. Shatter his right shoulder. Then the right elbow. I continue to work my way around his body, battering him until I’m satisfied that I’ve done enough damage.
Then I return to the toolbox, leaving Sundown sitting there, a broken bag of bones, drooling and mumbling incoherent nonsense. I set the hammer aside. “Bet you’re thinking we’re about done here.” I suck my teeth and shake my head and sift through the tools. “No, not yet. We’re not done until I hurt you so bad, the devil himself will take pity on you and have mercy on your soul after you’re dead.”
I pull out a battery-powered drill and squeeze the trigger. Let Sundown hear what’s coming next. This messy motherfucker, who had all the balls in the world when it came to selling out Kerri and me, shits himself.
I don’t think we can blame ket for this one.
Jester pinches his nose and walks backward. “Did you…did you take a shit? When I said that before, I didn’t mean for you to actually do it. Ugh. Gross.” He waves a hand in front of his face to stave off the odor. “Havoc, this nasty bastard shit himself.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m aware.”
“S-sorry,” Sundown stammers hoarsely, the word barely coherent.
“Fuck yeah, you are.” Jester snickers. “Jeez, you reek.” Then to me, “We might have to fast forward to the good part before I vomit from the stink.”
“Jester, Christ, man the fuck up.” I hit the trigger again, the whirl of the drill lost under Sundown’s pleas and moans. The ket should be at its peak now and absolutely brutal. “We don’t have a name for this game,” I say with a sneer to Sundown.
Jester pulls an expression of contemplation and strokes a nonexistent beard. “Pokey, Screwy, Oops I Shit My Pantsy?”
Yeah, sorry, but I have to laugh at that one.
And then I drill into Sundown.
The thick bit spirals into his flesh. Once. Twice. Spews out a spray of blood. I use the sleeve of my black Henley shirt to wipe the wet from my face as I dig deeper into his pecs, into the U of his Unholy tattoo.
“Get the razor,” I instruct Jester with a nod to the remaining letters. “Fuck up the rest. He’s not going to hell with so much as a trace of this honor inked on his body.”
