“Because Robert told him to?” Quincy’s smile dropped momentarily, and I knew I was on to something. “What about your wife? Ta’lon, was she under his employment, too?”
“Employment?” Quincy laughed and shook his head. “Ta’lon ain’t no fucking employee of Robert’s!”
“Oh, are you sensitive about your wife?” I laughed, taunting him. “Little mama means something to you?”
“Where the fuck is she?” He panicked over the thought of Ta’lon, which was interesting.
“You love her, huh?” I questioned him. I looked over at Citrine, who was watching Quincy. “Huh, Quincy, you love Ta’lon?”
“Love?” he repeated and shook his head. “Ain’t no love on my end for her ass.”
“Then what has you stressed?” I reached into my bag and pulled out a surgical blade. “If it’s not love, then what is it?”
“Nigga, just kill me so this shit can be over with,” Quincy said, glaring at me. “That’s why you’re here, right? To kill me. So do it and stop asking me all these fucking questions.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I stood and approached him. “I have eight years of pent-up anger and six months of full-on rage to deal with before you can die.” Using my blade, I cut from his shoulder down to the tip of his middle finger. The only part of his arm that wasn’t cut was where his restraints were. Quincy yelled and thrashed against his restraints, but he wasn’t goinganywhere. “Now let’s play a game. I’ll ask you questions; if you don’t answer, I’ll cut a muscle or a tendon. If you do, then I’ll let you be.”
“Fuck you, nigga,” he spat in pain.
“Let’s start with something easy,” I said, ignoring him. “What the fuck does Robert want with us?” I stood over Quincy and waited. When he didn’t answer, I put my scalpel in my empty seat, then grabbed a pair of gloves from my bag and put them on. Quincy’s eyes followed my movements. “This is your last chance to answer my question.” I stuck my hands into his cut and pulled his skin apart, exposing his muscles and tendons. Quincy screamed in pain, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I picked up the smelling salt from the bag and waved it under his nose. “No night-night time, nigga.” Quincy jolted awake, and I laughed. “Now, where was I?” I looked around, and when my eyes landed on my scalpel, I picked it up. “Why is Robert after us?”
“Where the fuck is Ta’lon?” he groaned instead of answering me.
To prove to him I wasn’t playing, I cut into his bicep, and he screamed. “Answer my question, Quincy. Why is Robert after us?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fine,” I sighed, then shook my head. “Don’t say I didn’t give you the chance to do this shit the easy way.” I put the scalpel on the table, then pulled the skin apart on his forearm, exposing his muscles and tendons. I cut them away until I got to his Ulna. Once it was fully exposed, I went back to my bag and grabbed my surgical saw. I cut his ulna, and Quincy screamed so loud I thought he was going to pass out again, but he didn’t. “Now, are you ready to talk?”
“Never,” he panted.
I loved a nigga that was tough because it allowed me to get all my twisted ass fantasies out without being questioned. I reached into my bag and took out a pair of pliers.
“What are you going to do with those?” Xoey excitedly asked.
I’d forgotten she was here because she was so quiet. Instead of answering her, I went to Quincy’s hand and pulled his skin apart. “Now, Quincy, this is going to hurt just a tad, okay?” I informed him, then stuck the pliers into the opening in his skin. I opened them, wrapped the head around his bone, and pulled his finger through the opening of his skin.
“Oh, that’s nasty,” Citrine said behind me. “Real fucking nasty.”
“I like it,” Xoey laughed.
I kept my focus on Quincy, ignoring them. “Now, are you ready to talk, or do I need to do that again nineteen more times?”
“You can do that to feet too?” Xoey asked. “Quincy,pleasedon’t answer him. I want to see that shit so bad.”
“Robert’s beef ain’t with y’all,” he groaned, shaking his head. I knew the pain was getting to him because he was sweating like crazy. “Y’all are just collateral damage.”
“So his beef is with who?” I sat across from him. “Y’all went after Yale and me. If it ain’t us, then it’s Tulane then, right?”
“Partially,” he panted.
“Explain, Quincy,” I sighed. “Fill in the fucking blanks.”
“That’s all I know.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, shaking my head. I stood and moved to his other arm, repeating my actions by cutting his arm over, snapping his ulna, and pulling a finger through its skin. This time, I did his pinky.
“Alright!” he yelled. “Alright, I’ll tell you.”
