Page 91 of Ink

“You should have thought about that before you tracked her down and beat the shit out of her. Me and my brothers don’t take kindly to men that hurt women. Especially when that woman is mine.”

“It’s water under the bridge. You won’t hear from me again, I promise. It will be like I didn’t even exist. You and your friends can leave, and I won’t call the cops. I promise.” He’s trying so hard to hold it together but can’t keep a little light begging out of his voice.

“You’re making a lot of promises for a man that doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” Cyrus tells him.

I nod my head. “My brother is right. I don’t give a fuck what you promise me. Take your shirt off.”

“I might be outnumbered, but I don’t swing that way, sorry. I’m not taking my shirt off for you.” Zach’s lips turn up in disgust.

“It wasn’t a request,” I tell him, voice hard. I’m done fucking around with him.

Zach takes one step back as he puts his hands out in front of him. “Let’s just all calm down for a minute. I’m sure we can reach some sort of deal.”

Hash and Cyrus snort behind me.

“This is me being calm. Nothing you have interests me. Maybe for the first time in your life you should do as you’re told.”

“I have money,” he pleads. “Lots of it. I can write you a check right now.”

Snapping my fingers, I point at him. “Hash, hold him down.”

Hash moves in as Zach starts walking backwards until the back of his legs hit the couch with nowhere else to go. Hash laughs as he yanks Zach’s arms behind him, locking them there.

“Not so big and bad now, are we?” I ask with a humorless laugh. Hash is close to twice his size, towering over him. Zach is trying hard to get out of the hold, but Hash isn’t fazed.

Pulling out my pocketknife, I flip it open, twirling it around in my hand. Without warning, my arm dashes out, pressing the tip of the blade near his trachea.

Zach lets out a scream that makes the adrenaline pump harder through my body. Dragging the blade down, careful to only apply enough pressure to barely cut the skin, I slice his shirt down the middle, breaking the skin as I go. Crimson liquid trails after me, alternating between dripping on the floor and sliding between the waistband of his pants.

His screaming turns more high pitched, making all of us wince.

“Jesus fucking Christ, shut up! You sound like a squealing bitch.” Hash shakes him. “What is up with that tonight?”

Zach stops screaming as he looks at me with frantic eyes, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“Are you going to take your shirt off now?” I ask, blowing more smoke in his face. This time he doesn’t try to get the smoke out of this face. Instead, he nods his head in response. “I knew you’d be a fast learner.”

Hash lets go, giving him a hard shove. Zach falls to his knees, unable to catch his balance. His palms hit the carpet as he starts to push up off the floor.

I quickly place my foot on his shoulder. “Stay down.”

Zach freezes, clearly torn between fighting back or giving in. His shoulders slump and he yanks the shirt off each arm. Pushing my boot into his shoulder, I kick him to the floor.

“Please don’t shoot me,” Zach sobs into the carpet.

“I told you earlier that I’m not goin’ to shoot you.” I pause, acting like I’m thinking it over as I press my boot into his face. “At least not yet. Hash, get his arms. Cyrus, get his legs.”

By the time Hash and Cyrus have him locked down, he’s whimpering and shaking uncontrollably. “What are you doing?” He chokes out.

My cigar is still burning hot as I’m only about halfway through as I crouch down next to him, ignoring the question.

He knows what’s coming.

I push the foot of my cigar into the base of his spine, holding it against his skin until I smell burning flesh. This time, Zach’s screaming is music to my ears as he cries out, bucking his back, trying every which way to worm out of the hold and get free.

Cyrus has his legs in a one arm bear hold and he holds out a lighter for me to stick the cigar into. Letting it get nice and hot before I take it away, I press the foot into his skin right above the last one. Repeating the process over and over until I reach the base of his neck, the same exact spot he stopped on Sutton.

The smell of burning flesh, vomit, sweat, and cigar smoke fill the air. Halfway through his back Zach threw up all over himself, eventually face planting in it exhausted. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen from crying and the pain.