Page 7 of Retaliation
“What the fuck?” Jackson’s eyes bugged out of his skull at the sharp blade. His gaze darted wildly between the cuffed wrist and the arm I now yanked away, stretching him wider. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I tisked, shaking my head as I tugged the rope, stretching him further away from the car and straining his shoulders. He grunted in pain, and I smiled. “Tell me, Jackson. What exactly does a piece of shit like you do for The Obscuritas?”
His mouth clamped shut. At least he had some loyalty to his masters. I tugged the rope further, and he gritted his teeth.
“I dunno what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve seen the tattoo, asswipe. All the little lackeys have the same one. I need information. If I don’t get it, I might have to start cutting you into tiny pieces.”
“Fuck you. You’re bluffing,” he spat.
I pulled the rope tight, tying it off to a pole on the far side of the garage. I twirled the blade lazily and smiled.
“Sadly, I’m not. Let’s see. Where to start? The ears? Hmmm…not the tongue. What about your dick? I doubt you use it much anyway.” I stalked toward him. “Let’s start with something a little smaller.”
I soaked a rag in motor oil and stuffed it into his mouth before he could scream. Then I straightened his fisted hand and sliced off his pinky, my knife smoothly cutting through flesh and bone like soft butter. Jackson screamed and choked on the rag in his mouth as his blood dripped to the floor. I grinned again and tugged out the rag.
“You fucking bitch. They’ll kill you.” Saliva dripped from his mouth as he cursed at me.
I slid the blade along his chest, causing him to jerk back. “Perhaps. But right now, I’m going to kill you. Unless you give me what I want. Where have the founders been staying? I know it isn’t at Vespertine Hall. So where are they hiding out?”
“I dunno. I swear.” He slurred the words, and fear filled his glazed eyes.
Before Jackson could clamp his mouth shut, I stuffed the rag back in, then sliced off his other pinky, just to keep things symmetrical. His eyes watered as he tried to scream. I ripped the rag out and jumped back as he puked all over the garage floor.
“Gross. You’re a fucking wimp, Jackson. How did they even let you into their little cult?”
Jackson panted, sucking in breaths as he cried. “Samuel Delano is my cousin.”
Levi’s father. I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. Tibby had done some research on Jackson to help me prepare for tonight, so I already knew he was a relative of Levi’s.
“So? The founders aren’t exactly sentimental. What would one of the Kings want with you?”
He gritted his teeth, and I grabbed the rag. “No, wait. I’m…I’m watching Devon Parrish.”
“Why?” My head cocked curiously, and I traced my blade across his chest.
Jackson shook his head, sweat coating his skin. “I dunno. He’s important to whatever is coming. They don’t tell me much.”
“Shocking. Where are the founders, Jackson?” I slapped him across the face. Hard. “Where are the fucking Kings?!” I screamed at him, my frustration building.
“I dunno. I swear. It’s someplace out of state, I think. South, maybe. I heard Sam say something about going to North Carolina once or twice.”
Interesting. I hadn’t heard anything about a location in North Carolina, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. “Well, that was marginally useful.” Jackson sighed heavily, and I laughed. “Unfortunately, you’re still going to die.”
His eyes went wide. “But I told you everything I know.”
I nodded with a cruel smile. “You did. But I can’t have you squealing to your friends. And you’re a squealer, Jackson. I sliced off two little fingers, and you sang like a canary. And you stuck your tongue down my throat without permission. You’re a lying, cheating piece of shit and you don’t deserve any mercy from me.”
“Fuck you! They’ll find you and they’ll kill you!” he screamed, tugging on the rope and the cuffs as blood dripped to the concrete floor from his mangled hands.
I stuffed the rag back into his mouth and dumped the gallon of oil onto the floor. Circling back toward Jackson, I sliced the rope, swiftly wrapping it around his neck and pulling tight as I slammed him to the ground. His head cracked against the concrete, and he groaned. I crouched down near his face as blood pooled from the wound.
“Not if I find them first, big boy,” I whispered, pulling a Zippo from his pocket. “Enjoy hell.”
I uncuffed his other hand and pocketed the handcuffs and my blade. I grabbed my jacket and the oil container, leaving a trickle in my wake. I flipped Jackson’s lighter and tossed it to the ground. The oil burst into flames, along with everything else in the garage. Jackson’s screams grew higher in pitch as his body began to burn.
I wish I could say it was music to my ears, but like everything else, the sounds faded away, sucked into the eternal darkness that lived inside me. I didn’t care if he died. I didn’t care if he lived either. I just didn’t care.
