“Oh, I wasn’t talking about them. Though…I suppose we will see if it gets that far. For now…let me just end any future ones you planned to have.”
The guy started trying to get away, struggling in the chair, but Harlow ignored it. Slicing into his pants, he tore them open the rest of the way, removing his boxers in a similar fashion.
He let out a whistle as he looked at the man’s short and stubby limp dick. “Not packing much. Your wife must constantly be disappointed.”
Cain’s face twisted in rage. “You—”
But the man stilled, going silent, his eyes widening in horror when Harlow pressed the tip of his knife to his balls. A thin line of blood dripped down. “You have five seconds to talk before I remove the first.”
“Don’t you see, you are in the wrong?!” the guy cried, voice full of panic instead of anger now.
“Five.”
“You have to understand they are the enemy!”
“Four.”
“We must do what we can to rid the earth of them, and protect humanity!”
“Three.”
“We have been chosen for this task!”
“Two.”
“God demands it of us!”
“One.” Harlow started pressing the knife down, drawing more blood.
“WAIT! WAIT! I’ll TALK. I’ll TALK!”
He paused, raising a brow.
“Priests! We are working for the Order of Bloodless Saints. They are the defenders of the holy one’s will, and bringers of salvation to the fallen! That’s all I know! We were contacted secretly. I don’t know where they took him. Or who they are exactly. Just that they are priests!”
Harlow stared him dead in the eye and slammed the knife down, slicing into the sack, right between the man’s two balls, and deep into the padding of the recliner. He kept staring, not flinching as one of the man’s testicles slipped out when he yanked the knife free of the chair he’d just embedded it into.
The man screamed through the whole process, voice coming out high pitched before his eyes rolled back and his head slumped forward.
"Oops,” Harlow grunted and sheathed his knife.
He straightened and turned to the others, expression blank, even though he really wanted to put a bullet in each and every one of their skulls. The group was staring wide eyed at him, all pale, all sweating and trembling… A few had pissed themselves.
Harlow rolled his eyes, wiped his bloody hands on his jacket and walked past them, going out onto the porch to wait for the wolves to arrive.
Foxx’s consciousness returned to the sound of murmuring voices. He was laying on something hard, and he could hear an engine… A van…he was in the back of some kind of van.
“We should kill him, Father Samuel!” one man argued.
“Weshall do as we have always done. Stick to the correct order of things. He will be purified like all the rest.”
“He killed—”
The voices faded out when his mind finally recognized he was bound in chains. Foxx struggled and uselessly screamed—his voice muffled by a gag. Panic welled up, and just as he was about to lose his ever-loving mind, the van hit a bump in the road, sending him tumbling over onto his back. He let out a muffled, agonized cry, as the blisters he’d gotten from the holy water earlier burst. The pain was instantaneous, and so much that he couldn’t fathom having gone from nothing to this. Perhaps his fear had hidden it before. That was the only reasoning he could come up with.
Foxx rolled onto his side, sweat dripping down his face. His body trembled from his efforts to try to get into a position that would ease some of his suffering. Head a bit less swamped by his emotions, beside the pain, Foxx found himself looking up at three priests.
The men were staring back; two were glaring, while the other’s face was neutral. They were oddly seated on a bench that was facing the back of the van. It took only them in his sight, combined with the feeling of his bound wrists and ankles, for the fear to come rushing back.
