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“Is that true, Casper?” I ask, feigning stupidity. Even before picking up this sack of shit, we knew of his involvement and how well he knows the hitman.
“Negative. Not what he said earlier.”
“So I’m dealing with a liar, then?”
“Aye.”
“All right.” Turning my face toward my cousin, I point toward the black bag near him. “Toss that my way…” he does, and I catch it with one hand “…And Archie, we’ll be needing the bench now. Go ahead and set it up near the back.”
19
“What are you going to do to me?” Felix asks, his body dragging backwards, and I make no move to follow him. He will come. He will accept his judgment. “Please, let’s be reasonable. We can work something out.”
“Come here.”
“Callum—”
“If any of us have to grab you, it will be worse.” Taking the item out of the black bag, I test the weight in my hand and check the leather used. It’s not like mine back home. No. This one doesn’t have the added touch of a madman, but it’ll inflict plenty of pain.
One snap of my wrist and it unfurls, the whip snapping against the dirty concrete. The sound is loud, meant to spike his fear, and Felix throws up. Hunching over, he empties his stomach and I scrunch up my nose. Disgusting.
“Would you like me to fetch him, Mr. Jameson?” Archie asks, coming back inside. He wipes his brow and eyes the man with a mixture of pity for the lad and ire. Every person in our organization, from the tenured to the newest guard, has felt the death of Aunt Penelope. “Ezra called to make sure we are on schedule, and he’s waiting for the signal.”
“He worries a lot.” Casper’s traded the gun in his lap for one of his Karambits. “Send him a message with new airport ETA. An extra two hours today should be enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
Turning back to the man on his arse, I see he’s still trying to crab crawl back and failing. His dodged-up knee, thigh, and hand are an impediment he can’t escape. “Last chance, De La Vega.” A warning he doesn’t heed, and I flick my eyes to an eager Casper. “You get two shots.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
“I try, you arse.”
The wanker doesn’t answer; he’s too busy looking at the man. For a few minutes neither moves, my cousin waiting, and when Felix whimpers, the Karambit breaks through the air and slices a clean cut across his left shoulder before landing on the ground.
Because that’s the beauty of that knife: it’s bloody sharp. The skin parts, the flesh having given way, and what’s left is a deep gash that bleeds at a high rate.
“That’s one.” I’m admiring his work, ignoring the way Felix screams and writhes before picking up the knife. It’s in his grip, but the twat doesn’t know how to place his fingers, much less how to angle the blade for a more accurate slice.
“All I’m going to take.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Blood loss is a bitch and Felix is beginning to show a bit of fatigue, the Karambit slipping through his loose grip. He’s bled quite a bit from each wound, and when he attempts to stand with his uninjured hand extending the knife out, it doesn’t last. Instead, he stumbles, and Archie comes back in time to grab him.
Felix thrashes, tries to fight back, but is quickly outmaneuvered and taken to a deviant little section Casper’s acquaintance keeps here. Every apparatus back here is for discipline, to keep the recipient in place, and I chose the bench to start.
His body’s bare except for the pair of boxers we’ve left on him. His feet are stepping on an array of broken glass that’s kept inside of a built-in wooden box for added punishment.
He shuffles, tries to push the shards aside to save the bottom of his feet, but the first strike of my whip remedies that. It slices through the air, connecting with his back while leaving a sharp welt behind that quickly blisters.
“Fuck!” he screams, fighting his bonds, back arching yet the limited space keeps him in place. The blubbering starts at once, and it’s disappointing. “Don’t. I’ll do…no!”
The second lash strikes from his right shoulder to the middle of his spine, this one breaking the skin, and the surrounding flesh turns red. “Why did you do it?”
“No more.”
