Page 39 of Justyce
If he was pallid before, he’s deathly white now. I reach behind once more and pull out my ebony carved demon knife. Nostalgia blankets me as I admire the intricate carving over the Damascus blade. I had this baby custom made when I turned sixteen. Normally this knife would have a black panther, but the monsters deep within me made it fitting to place an ugly demon head at the base.
I wear this knife like a second skin. Wherever I go, Azrail, the Angel of Death, goes. The smooth handle molds perfectly in my itchy palm as the expected spectacle unwinds within my twisted mind of what this Damascus blade is about to inflict.
Finally I draw my eyes away from Azrail to find black mane. He’s pleading with me without saying a word. I snicker to myself because he’s barking up the wrong tree. He won’t find any compassionate in my bones.
Drawing my attention away from the pitiful excuse of a man, I search for the two women. Both are sitting forward, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say eagerly.
I want to say so much to them, yet I settle with a simple line. “Are you ladies alright to watch what I’m about to do? Because if you don’t like blood I’d turn away.”
Little miss blonde and brunette sit up taller, straightening their backs. The blonde reaches for the other girl’s hand in what I view as comfort. Their eyes meet briefly before they both nod toward me.
“Do it,” they reply in unison.
I nod back then turn toward the piece of shit. I tap my shoe against the concrete a couple times to gain some composure, but the sight of the tears brimming in his eyes and the saliva dripping down his chin has my face screwing up under my mask.
I seek my brother’s and they both incline their head, signaling they’re ready for me to proceed. Their hands hold him steady as I step closer and twirl Azrail from side to side in black mane’s face.
I shake my head in disgust because he’s pissing his pants again.Not so tough now, huh.I don’t give him the energy to voice any words, though. Instead, I grasp his tongue between my gloved finger and thumb and place the blade against his wet flesh.
The smile that tugs at my mouth is one that I wish he could see. Something tells me it would look manic as fuck.
The blade is sharp enough to slice his tongue clean off, but what fun would that be; plus, I know my beast is hankering to be fed.
Like molasses, I slice a small incision in his tongue and hold the blade still. Black mane’s howl is muffled and I can see he wants to thrash about, but the hamster is running wild in his mind and he knows any small movement can see him in a fuck load more pain.
Vermillion liquid drips from the small slit and I watch in awe, knowing Acheron and Arrow are doing the same. I want this to be slow and painful, and once his tongue is no more, I’ll cauterize the wound so we can have some more fun with him.
Everything fades away. There is nothing around me. I know the girls and anyone else in the room are watching, yet all I see and hear is blood. My fascination with the ruby liquid would be disconcerting to any psych, lucky for whoever the fuck they are they’ll never find out how sick I truly am.
Black mane’s cries draw me back to the moment and I’m all too willing to proceed. The stupid fuck should have kept quiet.
I work the blade through his tongue like I’m cutting my favorite steak. The only difference is that his tongue feels like it’s full of gristle.
His ear piercing screams turn to a gurgling sound as his blood fills his mouth. Seeing his eyes rolling back snaps me out of my daze. I need to end this quickly and cauterize the wound before he either passes the fuck out or dies of blood loss.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I slice the rest of his tongue off, some of his blood splattering on my clothes. Acheron is already standing with my zippo in his hand. I wipe Azrail off abruptly on my jeans and hold the blade over the flame.
The metal heats quickly and I waste no time placing it against the stump of his bloody tongue. The knife hitting his flesh sizzles, and it almost reminds me of a hot summer day standing over the grill. Almost.
Black mane’s skin is ashen and I’m certain he’s about to pass the fuck out. Just as the thought passes through my mind, he loses consciousness. Arrow snaps smelling salts under his nose and his eyes pop wide and he starts screaming again.
I shouldn’t be mildly aroused by the fear in his beady eyes, or the fact I sliced a man’s tongue from his mouth, but fuck it I am.
I chance a look at Acheron and he’s hard as fuck. We seriously need help, but the kind we need we’ll never find.
Inconspicuously, I rearranged my semi erection and face the two women. Glancing down, I notice their white-knuckle grip on each other and wonder if I went too far. “You wanna make him bleed like he did you or would you prefer I finish him off?”
The brunette’s posture turns rigid, but I don’t see her, all I see is Kenzi. I had all intentions of drawing this out but my mind is wandering, and I know Acheron and Arrow need their fill. I’m bullshitting to myself, but no one will decipher my weakness for what it is. Kenzi. Fuck.
I know when they find out exactly what Kenzi saw all those years ago, and why I sent her away, they’re going to hand me my balls on a platter with caviar. I push those meandering thoughts from my mind and focus on the task at hand.
Blonde stands and pulls the Brunette to her feet. “You can do this, and I won’t let you do it alone,” she assures. “I heard your screams just as you heard mine. He deserves to die at the hands of someone he hurt. What better gift to send him off with the gift of seeing your face just as he fades to black.”
I chance a glance over my shoulder. . I can only imagine the scenarios playing havoc in his skull after hearing those syllables fall from her mouth.
Stepping back from black mane, I allow enough space for the girls to step forward and block out his blubbering pleas. They move as one until they’re in front of him. I don’t hand them my blade, no fucking way. Azrail is mine and only mine.
I’m about to head toward the bag but Arrow surprises me and hands the blonde a knife. Slipping Azrail into the pouch, I stand with my feet hip-width apart and bracket my hands behind my back as I ready myself to watch the scene unfold.
