“There was an old toolbox. Found some hammer and nails in. Big nails, mind,” Ezra told him.
He looked over at the angry man in the middle of the blue plastic sheeting. His bottom half was bare, his legs and arms still bound and his mouth gagged.
“Was hell getting him out of the duvet cover,” Josh told him.
Ishmael nodded absently, turning to peer into the small toolbox Ezra had indicated. A rusty hammer and several old nails in a jar were indeed inside as well as a small, rusty hacksaw. He smiled.
That will do.
“And the stick?” he asked Ezra.
“This big enough?” Ezra asked.
It was a small piece of kindling. He’d have to be careful to not split the wood.
“If you’re gonna do what I think you are, I figured you needed something substantial.” Ezra shifted his weight uneasily, his hands unconsciously coming to rest in front of him as if to shield his genitals.
“And you’d be right,” Ishmael said. “Hold him and make sure his gag doesn’t come out.”
Crichton’s eyes widened as he watched Ishmael stalk over to him, the hacksaw in his hand.
“You thought you could fuck with me like that? Stick it to me? Take what was mine and betray your brothers?” he asked him softly.
Crichton began to make protesting noises, thrashing as he tried to get away from Ezra and Josh to no avail.
“You’re just going to make the agony of what I do to you greater that way,” Ishmael told him. “Not that I care if you do. I wish you nothing but pain.”
Crichton screamed at him from behind the gag. Ishmael shook his head. The crocheted doily from Victor’s house did not muffle the sound enough. He looked over at the pile of fabric where his men had removed Crichton’s trousers. Spying his underwear, he grabbed them and stuffed them as far into Crichton’s mouth as he could fit the tiny briefs.
“That’s better,” Ishmael said. “Now, you took my boy and Victor, well, he took his ass with that tail. He wouldn’t have been able to do that if you hadn’t betrayed me like that.” Ishmael knelt down next to Crichton. He reached down, grasping Crichton’s flaccid dick, ignoring the renewed attempts to get away and the muffled screams of denial. He held it taut and lowered the hacksaw.
“Oh God,” muttered Josh, averting his eyes, unable to watch.
Crichton’s back arched and a garbled screech cut off abruptly.
“You can let go of his arms now,” Ishmael told him. “Go get some water to dump on him, he’s passed out and I’m not with him yet.”
“He’s bleeding out,” Ezra said.
“Yes, so I don’t have long,” Ishmael said.
Josh ran off, his face decidedly green. He returned with an old pot from the kitchen, filled with water.
“Go on, dump it on his head,” Ishmael said, impatiently.
It didn’t work.
“Fucking hell. Never mind.” Ishmael got up, taking the severed organ with him. Josh turned his face away when he realised what Ishmael was about to do. When the last nail was pounded in, far enough securing the severed organ to the kindling, he walked back over to his former employee.
“Oh, good, he’s awake now, more or less,” Ishmael observed. Ezra moved out of his way., moving to one side. “Roll him over and part his cheeks.” Muffled sobs sounded. Ishmael ignored them. He positioned the wood at Crichton’s sphincter. “You can go into eternity knowing that the only person who jams things up the asses of people who belong to me is me. And that I’m also the only one who gets to do any fucking, whether it be for pleasure, or just fucking someone over.” He shoved it inside. “There, now you can fuck yourself,” he continued, pulling it out a bit before shoving it back in. His phone buzzed.
He stood up and stepped back, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He read the text. “Heat up that hammer up using the gas stove and use it to seal his wound closed, then roll him up and put him back in the trunk, but not before hosing all the blood off.”
Neither man said anything in reply. They didn’t have to. Ishmael knew they would obey.
He stepped into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the figure sitting at the kitchen table.
“Tiegan,” he said, leaving the back door open.
