Oh, fuck.Chaz didn’t think he could get any more scared than he already was—he waswrong.
“Twoyoung boys are dead,” the cowboy murmured. “Because of you.”
“Two…?” Chaz’s face twitched, and he shook his head. “No… no, there was onlyone.”
“For every action…” The cowboy leaned closer and slid his hand into Chaz’s crotch. “… there is areaction.” He squeezed his damaged scrotum—hard. Chaz screamed and thrashed. The cowboy just stared at him, his hand clenching like a vice, the pain so intense it felt as if he wererippinghis balls off. “Every action has a ripple effect, like a stone dropped into a lake.” He leaned in, his breath hot on Chaz’s flushed, sweaty face as his lips peeled back from his teeth. “When you shot that kid… it rippled out, causing thedeathof anotherinnocentboy.” His teeth snapped in Chaz’s face. “Do you hopehedied, too?”
Chaz convulsed as if he were in an electric chair, every muscle seizing, his jaw clenching until his face hurt, as the cowboy twisted his bloody balls in a tight fist. Chaz’s head craned back over the chair, and he was suddenly staring up through bulging eyes at the large man behind him. Somehow, he was evenscarierthan the cowboy—though the cowboy literally had himby the balls.
The beast of a man stood over him, a huge knife in hand. He slid his fingers into Chaz’s hair, twisted the strands, and yanked his head back until the tendons in his neck strained dangerously. Chaz gagged, tears streaming down his temples.
“Answerthe man,” the colossus snarled.
Answer the man.What was the fuckingquestion?Chaz’s pain-clogged brain frantically tried to recall what the cowboy had said. But the excruciating pressure between his legs and the threat of his neck being broken were his entire existence at this point. “I don’t…”his voice gargled in his strained throat, foamy spit gathering in his mouth.
The large blade touched his taut throat, its razor edgepoppingthrough the first thin layer of membranes. Blood trickled down Chaz’s neck, almosttickling, like the kiss of a snake’s tongue.
“Do you…” The cowboy twisted his bleeding nuts. Chaz gagged on his screams. “… hope the other boy…” A burningstingseared across Chaz’s throat as the blade pressed harder, releasing a thicker stream of blood that pooled in the hollow of his throat. “…diedtoo?” The pool overflowed and dribbled down Chaz’s chest and stomach, filling his belly button, then trickled lower along his happy trail… that wasn’t so “happy” anymore.
The shooter’s knuckles were bone white as his fingers clamped onto the armrests like hooked talons. His chest hitched with his broken, panicked breaths as blood trickled from his throat down to his groin.
“Answer him,” Cochise demanded for the second time. The shooter’s head was bent so far back over the chair that his neck was in danger of snapping. The Egyptian kept perfect control of the blade, where a singleslipcould end the man’s life.
“I-I… no… NO!”the shooter choked on the desperate cry.“I-I didn’t mean it! I-I don’t want them to die—I DON’T! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean for them to get hurt! I DIDN’T!!”
Clint withdrew, his hand coated in the man’s blood, the warm wetness dripping from his fingertips. The shooter gasped in relief as the pressure eased from his useless balls, but he remained tense beneath the blade.
When Clint nodded at Cochise, the big man withdrew the knife and released the man’s hair. The shooter sagged forward, drawing deep gulps of air. His head hung, and he raised watery eyes to Clint’s face. The cowboy met his gaze. “Three.”
The shooter frowned, his bloodshot eyes mottled with confusion.
“You’renotsorry about the kids,” Clint said calmly. “Lie number three. You’reout.”
“Huh—” The man gasped as his head was wrenched back again, and Cochise hooked his fingers into his mouth, prying his jaw open. His tongue flailed as he screamed and tried to thrash free of the man’s iron grip.
Clint rose from the chair, brandishing the ear-clamp pliers. The shooter’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and he let out a guttural cry as the cowboy clamped the pliers onto his tongue and pulled it from his mouth.
“I hate liars,” Clint said. “I gave you three chances to tell the truth, and you wasted them all.” He nodded at Cochise.
The Egyptian struck swiftly, the blade slicing through the shooter’s tongue like butter. The man screamed as the appendage was severed. Cochise let go of his jaw, and blood gushed from his mouth, splattering Clint’s face as the man whipped his head back and forth, gagging and sputtering.
Stepping back, Clint dragged his sleeve across his face. He walked to the drum of coals, dropped the severed tongue into the barrel, splashed gasoline into it, and set it on fire.
The shooter sagged forward, mouth open, convulsing as blood poured down his body. His eyes had a glaze Clint was familiar with. The man was checking out. Clint walked to the table, picked up another tool, then returned to the shooter and slapped his face, bringing him back to attention. Clint sat beforehim again, smacking his cheek a couple more times until the man managed to focus.
The cowboy held up the small pruning shears, squeezing the handle twice and snapping the short blades in front of the man’s bloody face. “We’re not done yet.”
Chaz was barely coherent, his entire consciousness reduced to a pulsating orb of excruciating pain. All he could taste was blood as it filled his mouth, spilling over his slack lips and back down his throat. His tongue stump spasmed at the back of his throat, gagging him as it swelled.
When the cowboy slapped his face and snapped the shears, his full focus zeroed in on those two blades. He tried to beg, but only muffled, gargled sounds came out. Chaz flinched, choking and drooling, as the cowboy seized his right hand.
“Is this the one?” The cowboy bent back Chaz’s index finger. “The one thatpulled the trigger?That pushed that firstdomino?”His cold eyes darted to Chaz’s other hand. “Or are you a South Paw? I guess the only way to be sure I get the right one—is to take themboth.”
Chaz tried to jerk his hands back as he thrashed in the chair, but the leather straps held them fast. A strangled scream ripped from his bloody throat as the cowboy jammed Chaz’s right “trigger” finger between the shears’ blades and began to squeezeslowly—rather thansnappingit off.
Animal sounds bubbled from Chaz as his body jerked and convulsed. The cowboy steadily squeezed the shears’ handle,biting through flesh and bone. Chaz’s hand spasmed wildly, then the blades connected, and his finger popped loose, falling to the floor and plopping wetly into a puddle of blood.
“Huh-huh-huh!”Chaz gasped, his stubby tongue wagging erratically, his ability to form words severed along with the appendage.
