Page 28 of Cain
“You could have played it smarter and spared yourself a few limps. But now, a leg is gone, too.”
“I will kill you all!”
I chuckle. With a swift move, I grab his shirt collar and press my gun underneath his jaw. He squeezes his eyes closed.
“We can pretend there’ll be a next time, watching you fail to kill me like the pathetic, spineless coward you are. But right now, stop wasting my fucking time and chop off your useless fucking hand already!” I snarl, spitting straight into his trembling, worthless face. “Do it before I rip it off myself and shove it down your throat.”
“O-Okay!” He trembles.
I take one step away from him and watch his hatred simmering within him. Determinedly, he places the saw over his wrist and stares at it for a few seconds. Tears well up in his eyes as thoughts race through his mind. He exhales sharply.
He screams, ready to chop.
“Wait!” I cut him off. He exhales in relief. “Which one did you touch her with?”
“With this one!”
I push him back on the chair and press the muzzle violently against the bullet wound in his thigh. He screams in pain. “Don’t lie to me, Elijah.”
“I’m sorry …”
“Answer me!” I seethe.
“With both hands …” He whimpers in despair.
Now, he knows what he has to do.
“Good boy.” I remove the gun from his wound, causing a deep breath to escape his hole. “Get to work now.”
His shivers intensify, and he cries uncontrollably. He’s probably trying to move me, and it’s not going to happen.
He places the saw on his left wrist once again, clenches my belt between his teeth, and stares down at it. He hisses, and with a final breath, he delivers a powerful stroke, slicing his wrist.
Ouch. That was brutal.
His screams fill the empty, dusty room. All of my men lower their eyes and scrunch their faces in disgust—all except Landon.
Exhausted and on the verge of fainting, Elijah pants, giving me a pleading look, waiting for me to spare him. “Please, I can’t do that,” he wails.
“On the contrary, Elijah.” I step closer to him and lean down, patting his shoulder. “You’re very strong. You’ve got this.”
“And then I can go?”
“Then you can go.”
He saws again. Viciously. Determinedly. Fiercely. Again and again, until his hand falls to the ground.
Breathless, sweaty, and in tears, he collapses on the floor and waits for me to praise him. And so, I do. I clap my hands and smile. “You have balls, man.”
“Thank you,” he pants, nearly out of breath. “Now, please, let me go.”
“I will, buddy. After you chop off your other hand, all well.”
“What?”
“A deal is a deal.”
“But … how am I supposed to do it with only one fucking hand left?” he spits angrily.
