Tears stream down his face, mixing with my piss and the blood from his cut cheek. He's sobbing now, making these broken little animal sounds that only fuel my rage.
When I'm done, I tuck myself away and grab a dirty rag from the workbench. I shove it into his mouth, gagging him properly while he coughs and retches.
"Look at you, sitting there covered in piss like the worthless fuck you are." I circle him again, admiring my handiwork. "Not so tough now, are you? Not so fucking mouthy when you're the one being degraded."
I rip the rag out of his mouth, and he immediately vomits down his front, heaving and spitting.
"Please," he begs between retches. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
"Sorry?" I laugh, circling behind him. "You think 'sorry' fixes what you did to her? You think 'sorry' erases the bruises, the fear, the fucking violation? Sorry doesn’t mean shit."
I select a bone saw; the teeth gleaming dully under the harsh light. "You know what these are?" I tap the blade against his trembling hands. "These are the hands that hurt her. These hands touched what's mine."
Justin's eyes bulge, realization dawning through his piss-soaked, vomit-covered stupor. "No, no, please—I swear I'll never?—"
"Shhh," I whisper, pressing the saw against the delicate skin of his wrist. "This is gonna hurt. A lot, but I want you to remember something while you scream: she begged you to stop too."
I make the first cut slow, deliberate. The serrated teeth bite into his flesh, and his scream tears through the cabin, bouncing off concrete walls. Blood spurts, hot and thick, splattering my face, my chest. I don't flinch nor do I stop.
"These hands," I grunt, sawing harder as he thrashes, "grabbed her." The blade hits bone with a sickening scrape. "These hands bruised her." I push through, feeling the resistance give way as I sever tendons, muscle, finally bone.
His first hand drops to the floor with a wet thud. The sound is fucking beautiful.
His screams have turned to gurgles now, shock setting in as blood pumps from the stump. I quickly cauterize it with ablowtorch, the smell of burning flesh filling the room. Can't have him bleeding out before I'm done.
"One down," I pant, moving to his other side.
This time I work faster, more efficiently. The second hand joins the first on the concrete, fingers still twitching. Justin's head lolls forward, consciousness slipping away as his body tries to shut down from the trauma.
"No, you don't," I slap his face hard, jolting him back. "Stay with me, garbage boy. We're just getting started."
I cauterize the second stump, admiring my work. He's barely there now, eyes unfocused, breathing shallow. His screams have faded to whimpers, his throat too raw to produce anything louder.
His lips move, but no sound comes out.
"Once, I promised I'd peel your face off so thoroughly your mother wouldn't be able to identify your body." I trace the contour of his cheek with my blade. "So let's do that, m'kay?"
I start at his hairline, making a careful incision. His body jerks weakly, but there's no fight left. The skin separates from muscle with a wet, sucking sound as I work the knife.
His nose, his cheeks, his forehead—I take it all in one clean piece like I'm skinning a fucking deer. The wet slap of his face hitting the concrete is almost poetic.
"Look at me," I command, though there's not much left to look with. "I want you to see who's killing you."
His exposed muscles twitch, trying to form expressions that aren't possible anymore. I position the blade right over his heart, feeling for the space between his ribs.
"For Reese," I whisper, and drive the knife in with all my strength.
The blade slides home, puncturing straight through his heart with a wet, sucking sound. His body convulses once, twice—then goes completely still as blood bubbles around the hilt.
At that exact moment, the door fucking explodes inward, wood splintering as a boot connects with it.
Chapter 14
Ramsey
My cousin, Penn, stands in the doorway, baseball cap askew, expression morphing from fury to dark amusement as he takes in the scene. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they created the Joker after my cousin.
"Well butter my ass and call me a flaky ass biscuit! You fucking did this shit without me, and now I'm Pauly D pissed!" he shouts, stomping into the room.
