Page 153 of Boulder's Weight

"Why not just kill me?" he whispers, his voice hoarse from screaming.

I kneel in front of him, making sure he can see my face. "Because death is peace. Death is an ending. You don't deserve peace, Benji. You deserve to live with what you've done, with what you've become."

His eyes focus on me briefly, something like understanding passing between us.

Then he slumps in the chair, resignation replacing fear.

The feet are more difficult technically—thicker bones, more tissue to cut through.

I work slower than his hands, one and then the other, while Benji drifts in and out of consciousness.

Each time he starts to fade, I slap him awake.

He needs to experience every moment of this transformation.

By the time I finish, the floor around the chair is slick with blood even though I’ve tried to contain it.

Four limbs lie discarded like broken dolls, separated from the man who used them to cause so much pain.

The bandaged stumps where his hands and feet once were are reminders of what he's lost—not just appendages, but power, autonomy, identity.

I clean up carefully, disposing of the severed limbs in a way that ensures they'll never be found.

Benji watches me through half-lidded eyes, exhaustion and blood loss making him limp now.

"What happens to me?" he asks when I return to check his bandages one final time.

"You'll be taken to a facility," I explain, adjusting the tourniquets. "A place where they handle cases like yours. War veterans, accident victims. People learning to live without limbs."

He laughs, a hollow sound that ends in a sob. "A cripple. That's what I am now."

"Yes," I agree simply. "A living reminder of what happens when you hurt people under club protection. When you betray your own family."

I gather my supplies, preparing to call in Axel and Zorro to help transport him.

Before I leave, I lean close to his ear, my voice low but clear.

"If you ever try to contact Kelsey again, if you ever send anyone after her, if you even speak her name—I'll come back. And next time, I'll take your eyes, your tongue, your ears, your fucking cock. Piece by piece until there's nothing left but a breathing shell."

He doesn't respond, but the fear that flashes across his face tells me he believes every word.

Outside, the night air feels cleansing against my skin.

I strip off my blood-soaked shirt, stuffing it into a garbage bag with the rest of the evidence.

Axel hands me a clean shirt, not asking about the details. Some things don't need to be spoken aloud.

"It's done," I tell him.

He nods. "The club will handle transport. Arrangements have been made with a facility in Arizona. No connections to us, no way to trace him back."

"Good."

Zorro approaches, his expression solemn. "You did what needed to be done, brother. Not everyone could have."

I'm not sure if it's a compliment or an observation. Maybe both.

I've crossed a line tonight, moved into a darkness I'm not sure I can fully return from.

---