Page 48 of Fearless
“Other clubs have a history of giving a choice to their former members of how the emblem will be removed.” I held my knife’s blade up to the flame until it glowed. “And I was prepared to give you that choice as a final act of kindness. That is until,” I lowered the blow torch, examining my freshly heated knife in the air, “I found out you tried to lull Mariposa into your cowardly fucking escape plan.”
He continued to whimper and plead with meaningless cries. A dark spot spread rapidly on the front of his jeans as the smell of urine assaulted me.
“Your choice has been taken from you, Python.” I ignored his accident as I moved closer to him, standing to the side so everyone could see. “And no matter how much you beg, you’ll never escape the the blade of the reaper.”
I held the red-hot blade within an inch of inked skin as he continued to whimper and cry. He could feel the heat from it, but I didn’t touch him. I just let it hover over him while he braced himself, waiting for the burn. But I wasn’t about to give him anything he wanted.
I flipped my grip on the handle, pointing the blade away from me while I pulled out another knife. A dull, jagged-edged thing that I chose just for this occasion. I sank it into the right horn of the tattoo before he could see me coming, but he felt every jagged rip of flesh from my steel.
His scream pierced my ears but I worked diligently. The knife didn’t go deep but I had to use sawing motions to cut through him. A bloodbath covered both of us in seconds. I heard some people shriek and cry, then my men yelling at them to watch. No one was permitted to look away.
I took my sweet, painstaking time to cut a diagonal line across Python’s torso, dying half of the tattoo a dark red. Pocketing my jagged knife, I switched to the heated blade and dug the tip into the opposite tattooed horn. Yeah, he forgot about that little guy. I could see it through his pain-stricken face as I began a second diagonal line in the opposite direction.
I got halfway through cutting my X on his body when Python passed out. Shadow tossed me the smelling salts and we were back in business within a minute. Python woke up so hard, the back of his head bounced off the pole he was tied to.
“I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” I twirled the knife handle through my fingers. “I was just getting started.”
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I won’t…again…”
“Should’ve said that sooner.” I picked up where I left off, continuing my diagonal line to create a huge, morbid X through his tattoo. “Not that it would’ve done you any good. The timing just would have been better.”
My X was finished. But I still wasn’t done.
As I picked up the blow torch and began re-heating the blade, my eyes lifted across the crowd. Expressions were grim. Some people looked green and covered their mouths. Good. They wouldn’t forget this. When I looked for Mari’s gaze, her eyes met mine with steadfast determination. She was the calm in this storm that raged just under the surface.
The urge was strong to make this execution quick, like she asked. I didn’t enjoy humiliating a man, cutting into him like an animal for dinner. Every instinct in me wanted to pull my knife across Python’s throat, or sink it into his chest to end his misery. But I had a responsibility in this execution, and that was to ensure no one fucked with the Steel Demons again.
I never said the words, but Mari and I both knew—I didn’t know if I had the strength to do this, to make someone’s death a horror show in order to send a message. Looking at her reminded me that I could. She stood strong and tall like a president’s old lady should. And I, as her man and the club’s president, had to hold up my end of the deal and do what I signed up for.
So I set down the blow torch and spun around with my freshly-heated blade. I pressed the flat of it against the word STEEL inked onto Python’s stomach. His screams made my ears ring and burning flesh filled my nostrils. I pulled the blade away, leaving a grotesque red burn with no readable tattoo left. I flipped the blade and pressed it to his skin again, this time to the word DEMONS.
He passed out again, and we woke him up again. I made sure not a single readable letter was still on his body before tossing the burned blade away and retrieving my jagged one.
“I made a promise in church, Python,” I said as I undid the top button of his pants and yanked his zipper down. “You were there. Do you remember what that was?”
He let out a pained, wheezing breath. I wasn’t sure if he could hear me anymore and didn’t entirely care. I just wanted him conscious. I wanted to own every bit of his pain.
As I cut away his soiled underwear and had him naked from the waist down, it seemed to jog his memory.
“No, no, no, no…”
“Unlike you, Python,” I tapped my knife against his hip. “When I make promises, I keep them. It doesn’t matter how small, I won’t ever go back on my word to this club I would die to protect.” My blade dragged inward toward the base of his dick. “What promise did I make?”
“My…balls…your dog…”
“Good enough. Hades?” I whistled over my shoulder and my furry beast’s ears perked up as he trotted forward. Turning back to Python, I cupped his sack and tugged, stretching out the thin skin attaching his balls to his body.
“I hope you enjoy this and take a long, good look at me.” I brought the edge of the blade right to the taut skin above my hand. “I’m the last person that’ll ever touch you here.” Then I drew the knife in one swift motion.
A river of blood followed and I tossed Python’s family jewels over my shoulder. Hades jumped in the air to catch them like he was catching a frisbee.
The ringing in my ears hit a new pitch, and it wasn’t because of Python screaming. Something, either externally or in my own head, was blocking out all sounds for the voice.Hisvoice.
Even as Hades gobbled down on his meal, those dark eyes held me and gave me the command.
His life is yours to take. Reap him now.
“Gunner!” I yelled, disoriented like I was coming out of a daydream. The crowd was in chaos below me, stunned and horrified, but my captain of the guard pulled himself up to the platform, nearly slipping in blood coating the wood.
