Page 11 of Pope’s Purgatory

“You really should’ve pulled the trigger when I gave you the chance. Now, look at you with a hole in your hand.”

His eyes bounce around, searching for an escape route that he’ll never find. These are our motherfucking streets, and we’re not stupid.

Butcher glides up beside us and holds my axe out to me. “It’s all clear, Prez.”

“Excellent,” I purr, accepting my precious and twirling her around as I eye my prey. She makes such a pretty whistling noise as I swing her through the air.

Sing for me, baby.

Ah, look, there’s that hint of fear from him. It’s smart of him, really. You never know what a crazy man will do with such a beautiful, sharp blade like this.

Could cut off his head. Could cut off his toes. You just never really know. Lucky for him, I don’t mind informing him of my plans.

“Why were you cornering my employee?”

His lips twitch, and I know he’s about to be fucking stupid again.

“I wanted to see what she’d look like on her knees, stuffed full of my fat cock.”

“And if she didn’t want your pencil dick in her mouth?”

He rolls his eyes and the smirk he was fighting breaks free. “Bitches always want it.”

“But let’s pretend she didn’t,” I say, swinging my precious girl through the air as I prepare.

“She wouldn’t have had a choice,” he growls, finally showing his colors.

“As I thought.”

I nod at Malice and Manic, watching them march up to him. They each grab an arm, twisting it behind his back and holding his head in place. He struggles, already seeing his fate written in my cold, empty eyes.

“You made this so much easier by confirming you’re a piece of shit.”

“Make what easier?” he stupidly asks.

“Why, taking your head, of course,” I reply jovially. “It’s about to get messy, boys.” I step closer and draw my arm back. “See you in hell, motherfucker.”

My swing is perfect as I aim for his neck. Blood spurts, coating Manic, Malice, and myself as my precious girl lands right at his jugular, slicing through. I withdraw, then swing again.

Huh. I probably should have sharpened my blade before our ride.

Oh, well. One more ought to do it.

My last swing slices completely through, and I let out a loudwhoopwhen Malice is left holding the Steel Slayer’s head.

“Little rusty there, Prez,” Manic remarks.

I gasp, bringing my precious to my chest and covering her with my other hand. “Shh. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

“Probably should get her a little touch-up, brother,” Joker quips.

“D-Bag, make sure my girl here sharpens up before you put her back in the armory.”

“Will do, Prez,” he says, taking her from me and stowing her in his side bag.

“Cyanide, get Screw to bring a cage down to transport the body to their club. When we get close, I’ll drag him behind me until I reach the gate. Then we’ll leave the head and the body to make our statement. Everyone good with that?”

Joker passes me some baby wipes, and I clean as much of the blood from my face as I can. It’s only minutes later that Screw pulls up and we load the Steel Slayer onto a tarp in the back.

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