Page 108 of Peaches & Pistols

“What does it matter? Just let me go,” he whimpers into the unfinished wood floor.

My boot lands squarely in his gut. That’s all it takes for him to admit he’s right-handed.

I kneel down and hold his right wrist so tight his bones creak under the pressure and study his hand.

“So, this is the hand that tricked Mia into marrying you with soft touches and promises?” I wrench his pinky backwards, snapping it at the knuckle of his hand.

Carter’s pathetic scream incites me further, knowing all the times he hurt Mia and told her to stop crying.

“The same hand that slid on her wedding band and then hours later, held her down and brutally stole her virginity?” His ring finger goes this time.

His cries grow more pitiful, and I’m about done hearing it.

“Is this the hand that left countless bruises and scars on Mia’s body? That made her afraid to breathe wrong, barely hanging on for that little girl?” At the mention of Everly, his bloodshot eyes flick to me, filled with hatred.

I don’t give a single fuck. He never loved Everly.

That’s when I have to exert some effort for the first time tonight and break his thumb. His deformed hand is three dangling digits, and two contorted fingers hooked in agony like claws.

“Poor Carter. How ever will you sign the divorce papers without the use of your dominant hand? This is going to affect your bottom line at work if you can’t type,” I mock.

“F-fuck…you. You’re just like her, nothing but trash from the wrong side of the tracks, dirtying me with your filth. She’s lucky I gave her the time of day let alone marry her. She was never worth my time.”

“You’ve got, what, two fingers left on that hand? Broken fingers can be operated on and heal relatively well. You know what can’t be operated on, Carter?” He doesn’t answer, fear flooding his dead eyes.

“Missing fingers. Yep. Hard to reattach something that’s, I don’t know, been fed to the foxes up here.”

His pleas and crying start immediately and frankly, I don’t want to hear any of it. It stopped sounding like music a bit ago, and now it’s just fucking annoying. I reach over and grab Connor’s ripe sock, now covered in sawdust, and shove it back into Carter’s mouth.

“Much better,” I say more to myself than to him, standing and dusting off my jeans.

I pop my head out into the freezing night and find the guys relaxing in one of the trucks, music and heat on, comfortable as can be.

Spotting me, Reid rolls down the window and I holler, “Do you or Connor have your wire cutters on you?”

They’re always mending fence on the ranch, and I’d be shocked if there isn’t a pair around here somewhere.

“Right here.” Reid takes the tool from somewhere in the truck and holds it out the window for me to grab.

“Thanks. Be just another couple of minutes.” I saunter back into the house as if I’m not committing about a dozen crimes right now.

I kneel back down behind Carter’s heaving back.

“Alright, sweetheart. You’ve got two fingers left, and two hearts who have to live with the trauma you inflicted.” My meaning is clear, and his screaming has morphed into sobbing.

Payback’s a bitch, what can I say?

His hands are tightly bound behind him, so it’s easy enough to break his index and middle fingers before nipping the digits off with the wire cutters. His screams are so loud they draw the guys in from outside.

“Holy shit,” Connor says on a laugh. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Give me your other sock,” I say to Connor. He does without question, and I drop Carter’s useless fingers in, knot the top and hand it back to him.

“Fox food in the morning,” is all I say. Connor’s straight up giddy to be included.

Reid gives me and Connor that “disapproving dad” look, so I ask, “Would you have done more or less if it was Isabelle he’d hurt?”

I get my answer when he walks straight up to Carter’s limp form, hefts him to sit upright in the chair, and decks him square in the face. Blood pours from Carter’s nose, minorly adding to the mess we’ll have to clean up later. Reid wipes his blood speckled hands off on Carter’s overpriced shirt.