Page 43 of Law Maker

He never went into any murder without knowing first all the exit strategies.

Lawless wasn’t afraid of prison.

He wasn’t even afraid of dying.

Which made him extremely dangerous.

Or demented.

It was probably a fine line.

What’s he gonna do? He figured every genius was slightly wrong in the head to know all that they do.

Because of his eidetic memory, as he strung the guy up by the limbs, he shifted through his vast brain and found the very conversation that still motivated Lawless on this three year mission.

The terror.

The tears.

The heartbreak of the girl sobbing.

This man with his naughty pleading eyes so filled with his own fear had a hand in the making of that girl’s story. Now Lawless was here to make that debt void.

Lawless enjoyed when they struggled like a thanksgiving turkey.

He even shuck his coat. Because he intended to take his time with this one.

This one had been high up on his list for a long fucking time.

The middleman was always an important man.

The man muffled behind the duct tape, imploring Lawless with his wild bloodshot eyes.

“Did you ever hear of the story about lingchi? It’s a Chinese custom from way back in the day, around 900 CE, give or take a year. That’s common era for the dummies in the back. Check your history books, man. It’s fascinating.” Rolling up his black Henley sleeves one at a time, he circled the hanging meat. “Now those people knew how to exact punishment.”

Struggle. Struggle. Muffle.

Lawless laughed low to himself, taking a good few minutes choosing the blade of choice. He went with the flick knife.

Small but deadly and sharpened for his trip.

“Now see, they drew out the kill back then for as long as they could. You listening? Speak up, I can’t hear you. Okay, fine. I’ll tell you seeing as you don’t seem to know. Lingchi is death from a thousand cuts. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Well, maybe not for the hanging corpse.

But not everyone can win in the games that Lawless played.

The first cut went to his thigh. And then the belly and chest. Fast, slashing lines that seeped and dripped.

“I hope you’re keeping count,” he told the man who was screaming behind his gag.

After an hour the pool of blood was vast on the floor. So much so Lawless could no longer get near him without dirtying his boots.

The man was lifeless. Held up only by the ties on both wrists that were torn up from his struggling. With picks violently pushed under his fingernails and his teeth wrenched out with pliers, Lawless had a great time. But the guy? Not so much. He threw up, pissed on himself several times, bled everywhere—begged, pleaded and then passed out. Lawless waited it out and then started again.

The last and fatal cut was on the jugular.

The breath withered to lifeless gasps in moments. It was then that Lawless cut him down and let the guy fall to a crunching heap on the cement floor.

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