Page 52 of Deadly Aloha
“I’ll do it!” he shouted. “I’ll cut off my finger! Just… God, don’t take my hand! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for touching her!”
“Too little, too late,” I told him. I walked up to the stump again, pulling the blade out. “Your Bible says the right hand, so I think that’ll be the one to take.”
“No! Wait! Stop! I’ll do it! Please, Al—Paniolo! I need my hand.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you reached for Lu with it.” I was fucking with him. If he had the balls to cut off his own finger, I might just let him get away with doing that. Depends on how much he suffered. Couldn’t make this too easy for him, after all.
I leaned over the stump, putting my fists next to his. “I want you to say it.” My voice was calm, controlled. It gave me an edge that Rory’s panicked expression lacked. “Tell me who Lu belongs to.”
Rory’s cheeks, already black and blue, reddened as he held my gaze. In that moment, I saw just how much he truly hated me. Hated that I had what he desired most. His jaw tightened, like it pained him to form the words. “You, Paniolo. She belongs to you.”
I nodded slowly, patronizingly. “Good boy. Now tell me whose baby she carries inside her.”
His entire body was shaking now, and I hadn’t even cut anything off of him yet. “Yours,” he bit out through gritted teeth.
Straightening, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test. I spun it between my fingers for a moment, letting him see it in its entirely. “Very good. But just in case there’s any doubt in your mind in the future…” I looked over him at the twins. “Tip his head back, open his mouth.”
They stepped forward, pulling him so hard back that his arms stretched to their limits. Rory kicked, but they soon locked his legs down too. I came around to stand at his forehead. He tried to thrash his neck. I grabbed hold of his hair to keep him steady as the twins held his mouth open.
I held the pregnancy test up. “Try not to throw up. As I tell the cam girls, squeeze your thumb inside your fist to stop your gag reflex.” I glanced at his hands before adding, “Probably want to squeeze both, in your case.”
Then I shoved the pregnancy test down his throat. It was dry, so it no doubt hurt like hell. The stick got stuck in his throat for a moment as he tried to swallow around it. I made sure the twins had a tight hold of his lower jaw before I jammed two fingers down the back of his throat to push it the rest of the way in.
Walking away from him as he gagged and spluttered, I said, “Such a small thing. A baby. Yet monumental. I should be inside celebrating with Lu, making an evening of it, just the two of us. But instead, I’m out here with your sorry excuse of an ass.”
Tommy came back into the room, holding onto a machete that I recognized from Tangaloa’s supply of weaponry. “Great timing,” I said, holding my hand for the long weapon. Without giving Rory time to recover, I asked him, “Which will it be, Rory? Finger or hand?”
He tried to talk but couldn’t. Every time he opened his mouth, he coughed so violently, I thought he was going to throwup. He kept holding up a finger, but I had no idea if that was his answer or if he was begging for me to give him a moment.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I finally shouted. “Someone get the poor bastard some water! I can’t take this anymore.”
A water bottle was passed to the front. Tangaloa accepted it and walked over to Rory, twisting off the cap. Taking hold of his hair, Tangaloa wrenched his head back once more and poured the entire bottle into Rory’s mouth.
The man swallowed what he could, coughed up some, and the rest fell down over his neck and chest. He gasped for breath, still gagging some. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his shoulder like he didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore.
“Finger,” he rushed out, his voice hoarse.
“Undo his left hand,” I instructed Tangaloa.
“Please,” Rory gasped, still short of breath. “I’m right-handed. Please, my left…”
Tangaloa looked to me for confirmation. I repeated, “Undo his left hand.”
Rory swayed, unsteady, as Tangaloa used the drill to unclamp his left wrist. “You’re a fucking asshole!” he shot at me. Though his hatred rang through, his comment lacked volume.
“True, but I’m letting you choose which finger you get to lose.” The machete in one hand and the knife in the other, I waited patiently for Tangaloa to finish. When he stepped away again, I flipped the knife in my hand, catching it by the blade. I approached, a clear warning on my face. “Try anything,” I snapped, “and I leave you alone with the twins. I’m told they kept the watermelon peeler.”
That said, I placed the knife down, handle towards Rory, on the stump where his hand had been bolted down.
For a long moment, he just stared at the knife. I stepped aside so the others could watch without having to see around my back. Tangaloa stood opposite me, likely wondering as I was ifRory would be stupid enough to try something. He could throw the knife, but then where would he be? He’d still be bolted to the tree stump. Even if he took off his right thumb, his hand was too big to slide through the clamp for him to try to use the knife then.
He was out of options.
With a shaky hand, he reached for the blade. His right hand was still clenched in his fist and he stared at it now like he was trying to will his hand to open.
If I was in his place, I would take my pinkie finger. It was the smallest, so less blood loss and fast to heal. I had to wonder if the pinkie finger had any real value, other than to strengthen a person’s grip or to make a promise like a twelve-year-old girl.
I also would never do anything so fundamentally stupid as to land me in Rory’s current position.
