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Ice spits on David. “Coal here learned some interesting things from his Sioux grandfather on the reservation. Like how to field dress and skin a deer for its pelt. We thought, since you like cooking so much, you might be able to appreciate the kind of skill that takes.”
I watch our prisoner as I close off my emotions and get ready for vengeance. It’s not enough to just kill him; I need to make him afraid. Let him feel what the others felt before he killed them.
“He’s not ready yet, Prez. He needs a good marinade first; don’t you think?” Looking over at Hammer, I ask, “Got any liquid for the marinade, man?”
Hammer laughs cruelly as he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. “Sure as fuck do. Right here.” He starts to piss on Cook while asking, “How’s this for a marinade, motherfucker?”
When he’s done, I grab the gas can that we keep for emergencies out of the back of the van then pour the contents all over the man on the ground. “This way, it more than burns when I cut you, asshole. It’s going to weep down into your fresh cuts, and you’re gonna feel like a thousand razors are gutting you bit by bit.”
Throwing the can back in the van, I then pull out the hunting knife my grandfather gave me. It’s the same knife I scalped Sandoval with three years ago. This time, I’m cutting up a different animal, one who deserves it just as much.
Bending down, I pull David’s pants down until they are at his knees, but I leave his boxers on. Primarily, I’m just removing what would be the biggest deterrent from getting a good cut in with my blade.
Looking up at his face, I see he’s not scared yet. He should be. He probably thinks I won’t go through with it. He’s dead wrong.
Placing my blade on his lower abdomen, underneath the waistband of his boxers, I dig deep enough to start cutting through his skin and the layer of muscle there. Cook starts screaming from behind his gag, but it’s not enough to make me stop. He can scream all he wants out here. No one but the gators will ever hear him.
While I move my knife slowly upward, Hammer steps on Cook’s outstretched arms to help hold him still. I ignore the man’s futile thrashing and continue my job, occasionally stopping to saw at the tough tendons as I make my way up to his chest, stopping just short of the bottom of his neck. By the time I’m done, a small width yet long in length gap has opened the man’s body.
Now he is crying, more than likely from the pain.
With every slice, the air hits his wounds, adding in the bacteria from the gasoline as he bleeds but not fast enough to render him unconscious. Meanwhile, I feel only the satisfaction of revenge. It serves this man right to suffer this much after what he’s done to so many others.
Looking the terrified man dead in his eyes, I let him know what’s going to happen next. “I’m not going to bother pulling out your guts because that would just kill you faster. No, I’ll save that for the gators. But before I’m done with you, you’ll wish you had died a quick death.”
Reaching down, I place the blade on the left side of the long gash and start sawing in a slow even hand, up and down, separating the skin from the meat of his body. It’s like delicately filleting a fish, only harder because human skin is so much thinner than the thick hide of an animal.
Cutting a piece off, I hold it in front of the raggedly sobbing man who is still screaming and gasping for breath. “Whatcha think, Cook? Did I do a good job cutting that piece off? What’s that?” I mock as if I can’t hear his screams. I look over at Ice, then Hammer. “I think Cook wants a taste, boys. Hammer, hold his face and be ready to hold his jaw open.”
Ice sits on Cook’s legs so he can’t kick me away as Hammer holds him down by grabbing his head to keep him still as I pull the gag out of his mouth.
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. Any death you give me is better than the cartel planned. I set you up, so I fuckin’ win.”
His words anger me more, and I quickly shove his own piece of skin in, shutting him the hell up. Before he can spit it out, I put the gag back in place.
“Choke on your own meat, jackass.”
We need to figure out why this man chose to fuck with us rather than face what his own enemies had planned for him. Maybe Screech can sort it out. In the end, the why’s don’t matter. We lost Big Jim because this pussy didn’t want to face the plans of his own people fucking him up. He needs to die and that is that.
