The crack comes halfway through. A sharp, violent snap that echoes in the room as the bone splits unevenly. The lower half sags, held only by shredded tissue.
I keep sawing.
Beau stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching without comment.
Luke leans against the far wall in my head, smiling like this is a homecoming.
The final strip of tendon stretches thin, trembling under tension, then tears with a wet rip.
The foot tears free in my hands.
I place it in Dante’s lap, setting it down slowly so he can see exactly what it is.
For a moment he just stares at it.
Then the scream comes.
Blood surges from the mangled stump where his leg ends, pumping out in violent bursts that splash across the concrete floor. The torn flesh hangs in ragged strands around the exposed bone, slick and glistening under the warehouse lights. Muscle spasms uncontrollably as his body tries to process what just happened.
Dante’s screams collapse into broken, choking sobs as he stares down at his own severed foot resting in his lap.
I grab the salt container and tear it open with my teeth.
I pack it into the wound with both hands.
Not a sprinkle. Fistfuls.
I grind it into the exposed muscle, into the open marrow, forcing it into every torn space.
The sound that rips out of him doesn't sound human. His back arches so hard the chair lifts off the ground for a second. Veins bulge along his neck. Spit and blood spray from his mouth as he convulses.
“Now,” I say, my hands still slick with him, “we can talk.”
I wrap the stump tight with gauze, pulling hard, cinching it down until the bleeding slows to a sluggish seep.
He seizes again under the pressure.
I lean in close enough that he can feel my breath over his face.
“No more pretending, you’ve been to the manor. You know where she is.”
“I will tell you. I swear—I will talk—Just please.”
I burn the cigarette into the side of his face. “Now!”
“North of Eugene,” he gasps. “Off the 58. Gravel path. Front entrance.”
I turn to Beau. “You think he’s lying?”
Beau shakes his head once. “He’s leaking from every hole. He’s not lying.”
I press the knife gently under Dante’s jaw.
“Anyone else at the manor?”
“No. Just guards. Elliot is there. That’s it. I swear.”
I hold the blade there for another beat, then lower it.
