Page 185 of I Never Stopped Loving You

“Yeah…Something like that. Alright, how about we end this fucker so we can clean up and go to breakfast?”

“Eww…I didn’t think about the clean up.”

“Yeah, it’s not going to be pleasant, but this part should be fun.”

I lean out of the window looking back at Alex’s face pinched in pain.

“Hey, fucker,” I shout. He’s barely able to turn his head to me. “Ever stretch a rubber band until it snaps? This will probably be something similar,” I laugh maniacally.

“You’re evil,” Monty laughs.

“It’s the psychological torture that I love. Alright, on the count of one, gun it.”

“You got it.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One. Go!”

We both gun it. I watch as his arms stretch past what’s humanly possible. There’s brief resistance as the ropes tug. Pulling his arms apart until a sickening squelch sound echoes in the chilly air. The squelch is followed by a loud popping sound that I can feel resonate through my entire body. Our trucks jolt forward and I slam my foot on the brake. His body is lying in a pool of blood. Each arm lying at least ten feet away having been pulled so hard they snapped back almost hitting the trucks. Blood is splattered across the driveway and the yard. It’s a massacre.

“Holy fuck. What a rush,” Monty says as he jogs over to where I’m standing above Alex’s body.

His body is twitching as blood continues to flow from where his arm used to be. His heart might still be beating at this point. I’m not a doctor, so what do I know?

“May he never rest in peace,” I say, spitting on the ground next to him then turn to walk toward my truck and unhook the rope from my hitch.

Blood has managed to splatter the tailgate. We’ll have to take my other car to get breakfast.

“Hey, guess what?” Monty says excitedly.

“What?” I ask as I walk with him over to his truck.

“My truck has 360 degree cameras. I caught that shit on 4k,” he laughs maniacally.

“Well, make sure that shit is locked down so no one will ever see it.”

“Pfft. You’re talking to Montgomery Sanderson here. My shit is locked up tighter than Alcatraz.”

“Well, good. Let’s get this shit cleaned up, Goose. Then we can go to breakfast,” I laugh as I wrap the ropes around the dismembered arms.

“I’m thinking we should get crepes,” Monty says as he follows me toward the back yard where an old pump house has been turned into my personal disposal room.

“Crepes?” I ask.

“Yeah, you know crepes.”

“I know what crepes are. Why not just have pancakes?”

“Um, because crepes are better. They’re really thin pancakes, duh!”

CHAPTER 81

NOAH

NOVEMBER PRESENT DAY