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I crossed my arms, watching their interaction with furrowed brows.
These people were cannibals. The only way he was giving them food was by giving them other people. Why the fuck would he do that?
He sat her down in a chair and reached in his back pocket, retrieving the Browning knife he always carried. “Place your hands on the table, Martha.”
She looked up at him with tears rolling down her face and shook her head. Chewing my bottom lip, I glanced back into the kitchen to check on Cobra. He was rifling through the drawers, placing things I assumed he intended on taking with him in a pile.
“I need your help, Cali.”
Bringing my focus back to Romero, I uncrossed my arms and made my way around the table, stopping beside the woman.
“Place her left hand on the table.”
Wondering where he was going with this, I pried the woman’s stiff hand away from where she clutched it to her chest and held it down as he instructed.
“I’m going to count to three.”
At his words, the woman began to struggle and push at me with her other arm. Arlen grabbed it and held it identical to the way I was.
“Three,” Romero said calmly, driving his knife through the side of her left hand, removing it and plunging it straight through the back of her right. I winced and turned my head away as she screeched in my ear. Her blood quickly made its way across the table, some making it onto my skin.
“Pin em down,” Romero instructed in the same level tone.
Searching for something that could do what he wanted, I swiped up the steak knife from the now bloody table setting beside me, and pushed it through the hole he had just made, sticking it into the wooden table with a twist.
Arlen didn’t hesitate to do the same.
The woman dropped her chin to her chest and moaned, more than likely slipping into shock. I wiped my blood hand on the back of her shirt and stepped back.
“Look what I got.” Grim
m came from the opposite direction with an unconscious man in a choke-hold and the little boy from the barn like he was a sack of potatoes.
“Give me the kid.” Romero held out his arms, taking the crying little boy from Grimm.
As Grimm situated the man across from the woman who had yet to stop groaning, I gave Romero a questioning look.
“What are you doing?” I asked with a calmness I didn’t feel.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he shifted the kid around so that his back was pressed into his chest and his feet dangled off the floor.
“Grease is ready!” Cobra called out over the sound of the oven door slamming.
“Let him go.” I kept my eyes locked with his, my voice low but demanding.
“Why would I let him go?”
“He’s just a kid, you fucker!” Arlen lunged forward in a stance meant to snatch the kid away but Grimm moved quicker. He let the man fall out of his chair and snaked an arm around Arlen’s waist, hauling her backward.
Not so much as batting an eyelid, Romero lifted the boy higher and gave a sharp twist to his neck, strong enough to sever the connection between brain and nervous system, before dragging his knife across the boy’s throat. He dropped the body right beside his mother’s chair, and then proceeded to torture her further by removing two of her fingers.
I was cemented to the floor, watching everything happen as if through a periscope. Arlen’s screams were muffled as Grimm smothered her mouth with his hand.
Cobra walked in, carrying the saucepan of oil, and placed it down in the center of the table. Romero dropped the severed fingers in and they immediately began to pop and sizzle.
I watched the man on the floor wake slowly at first, startling awake when the scene before him fully settled into his brain. Grimm swapped Arlen for him, letting her break away from him.
She wasted no time taking off out of the room. I heard her footsteps hit the porch and knew she was making a run for it.
