“He’s really not,” Pyrite said from behind me, and I cut my eyes at him. He threw his hands up in surrender and chuckled. “I’ma shut the fuck up and stand over here.”
“Thank you,” I nodded, then turned back to Grant. “As I was saying. I’m off, like so off that even though that nigga was committed...” I nodded at Pyrite. “I was the one my people worried about. He went down for my crimes because he was protecting me. But do you know what that did for my mental?” I gave him a smile I knew didn’t reach my eyes. “It unleashed a whole new level of crazy, and the only person that’s ever been able to control it is Yale.” Grant’s eyes started to roll into the back of his head again, and I, without thinking, reached into my pocket and pulled out the pocketknife I carried, flicking it open.
“Oh hell, what are you about to do?” I heard Pyrite ask me, but I wasn’t about to explain shit, he’d see.
I let Grant go, and he dropped to the ground, barely conscious. I grabbed his upper eyelid and cut it off. He immediately shot up and screamed because of the pain, but I was in my zone. I moved on to his other eye and repeated the same process on the upper lid.
“I said eyes open,” I said, staring down at him.
“Oh, that’s nasty,” Citrine grunted. “I’m not going to sleep for a week after seeing that.”
I turned my attention to my brothers to see Citrine with a look of disgust, and Pyrite had the audacity to look bored. I lifted my brow, and he shrugged.
“I expected more,” he said, answering my unspoken question. “That’s not enough.”
“Noted.” I nodded, then turned back to Grant. I moved his hand from his left eye and slowly pushed my thumb into his eye, hooked it, and pulled back. His eye came out with little to no resistance, and I held my thumb up for Pyrite. “That better?” Grant passed out from the pain.
“Yeah,” he said, slowly nodding. “I like that.”
“Me too,” I agreed. I stood, pulled his eyeball from my thumb, and examined it. “You know you can go if you need to.”
“Not if you’re still moving, I’m not,” he said, shaking his head. I put my hands in my pockets and waited because I knew that nigga was going to say no. “Pop would lose his shit if I walked out now.”
“I got it.”
“I know, and low-key, a nigga is proud.” Pyrite nodded.
“Proud?” I questioned. “For what?”
“Letting that freak flag fly,” he answered as he walked around the room we were in. The DeCortes, having their own torture warehouse, always came in handy. “It’s usually Citrine and meshowing out. But to see you doing it?” He smiled proudly. “I feel like a proud daddy or something.”
“Nigga, you’re off.” I pulled my hands from my pockets, and with my empty hand, I grabbed Grant by the collar and dragged him to the front door. “This fat bitch.”
“I would offer to help, but his blood is everywhere and shit,” Citrine said with a disgusted expression.
I chuckled, nodded, then patted him on the chest with the hand I used to crush Grant’s eyeball. “I understand, big bro,” I chuckled, then walked out of the center of the room and hooked him up to a chain by his wrist.
“Amethyst!” Citrine yelled. “My nigga, is this his eyeball?”
“Yep.” I nodded as I pressed the control panel, and Grant lifted from the ground.
“My nigga!” Citrine looked down at his shirt, then back up at me, and I smirked. He was going to give my ass hell for the next few weeks, but I didn’t care.
“Let me go,” Grant groaned as I walked around him. I’d spent nearly four hours working on his eye socket because I needed to question him. If it were any other day or time, I would’ve let him bleed out and die without a care, but I couldn’t. I needed answers, and he was the only person who could give them to me. “I won't tell Quincy it was you.”
“I don’t give a fuck what Quincy knows,” I replied as I looked over my scalpels, trying to decide which one I wanted to use. “That nigga doesn’t put fear in my heart.”
“He’ll come after Yale if I don’t check in tomorrow,” Grant cried. “That’s always been the plan. From jump, we had a game plan.”
“Nigga, what?” I stopped moving and turned my attention to him. “That’s what y’all decided to do? Y’all already fucking had her!”
“She was how we controlled you,” he coughed. “We knew that if we had her, you wouldn’t fucking move. If I die, he moves.” Grant moved his head side to side, and he groaned in pain again. “She won’t survive twenty-four hours. Because she controlled you!”
“You said that already!” I yelled. “Tell me why you needed to control me!”
“Because then nobody would see the bigger picture.”
“Which is?”
