Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
We give him a running start, making him suffer, dragging out his death.
Then we stalk after him, flanking him from all sides, herding him like a panicked animal.
He doesn’t stand a chance, and we all know it. But that’s not enough. We want him to know it, too. We want him to feel every ounce of the terror he inflicted on Frankie, on Wolf, on all of us.
His footsteps grow more frantic, the scent of his blood ripe in the air. It drives me wild. I want to dismember him, to feel his guts hot and wet on my hands, to watch him fall apart under our attack.
A few feet ahead, the bear trap snaps shut with a crunch that sends a shiver of satisfaction up my spine.
He goes down, screaming, thrashing as the metal teeth dig into his flesh, sawing through tendons and splintering bone.
Leo and I close in, circling him like predators ready to pounce on a wounded deer.
“P-please. Please, don’t do this. I…I can help you! I can give you anything you want! Money…health care…anything. Please, just let me live!” His teeth clatter, his eyes wide, bloodshot with fear.
His words turn into frantic, incoherent pleas until they’re swallowed by the pain, by the inevitability of what’s to come.
But we’re not done. Not even close.
68
Leonid
—
Blood.
It’s everywhere, seeping into the snow, staining it a deep, dark red.
Rhett will bleed out eventually, but it’s not enough.
I want more. More blood. More pain.
We will drag this out and make every second a living hell for him.
The fillet knife is still buried in his shoulder. A dozen more knives stick out of his limbs, including four of Kody’s arrows.
We were careful to avoid vital organs and arteries.
I crouch beside him, my eyes locked on his. I glimpse the fear there, the plea for mercy.
Gross.
Rearing back my arm, I slam my fist into his eye socket.
He howls, blubbering and thrashing in the bear trap.
“I didn’t like the look on your face.” I shrug. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“I was…I was just trying to save you! To save all of you!” he cries.
“You can’t even save yourself.” Monty plucks the fillet knife from Rhett’s shoulder, making him cry harder. “Want the honors?” He offers it to Wolf.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” He accepts the blade and kneels in the snow beside Rhett. “I think death by three hundred cuts is the right choice here. All in favor?”
“Why three hundred?” I ask.
“That’s how many days he kept me away from you.”
“Three hundred it is.” Monty unsheathes his knife.
Kody and I follow suit.
Together, we descend on Rhett, slowly, ruthlessly, our blades gleaming in the starlight as we count.
Seventy-five cuts for each of us.
We don’t hesitate. We don’t flinch. We sink our knives into Rhett’s flesh with excruciating slowness, dragging our blades across his skin, savoring every moment, every drop of blood that spills from the wounds.
We cut in tandem, extending his suffering, each slice going deeper and twisting harder than the last.
I make my incisions with a hacksaw motion, splitting skin and severing tendons.
Monty sticks him with plunging stabs, slow and methodical, pushing hard on his handle until he hits bone.
Kody focuses on the genitals. After cutting away the clothing, he castrates Rhett in pieces, taking his time, shortening Rhett’s flaccid penis one slice at a time. Then he works on the balls, piercing them like pin cushions.
Wolf is just as diabolical. He wields the fillet knife as designed, cutting thin slices of fragile meat. He flays Rhett’s flesh, peeling him with precision, layer by layer, and collects the pieces in a neat pile.
“You’re not keeping that, Buffalo Bill.” I meet his eyes.
“Tell that to Lorena Bobbitt over there.” He points his knife at Kody.
Then he goes back to cutting and counting.
Rhett writhes in pain, his vocal cords blown as he stares at us, trying to reach out with his good hand, grasping at nothing.
Begging is futile.
There’s no mercy to be found in the faces of those he wronged.
There’s no escape.
His screams ebb into whimpers, his body shaking with the effort to cling to life. But there’s no life left in him. Just pain. Just terror. Just the cold, hard truth that he’ll die here, in the place where he thought he could overpower us.
The relief that brings me borders on ecstasy.
As we near the three-hundredth cut, Rhett’s breaths huff in wet, gurgling gasps, his chest heaving with the effort to stay alive. He won’t live for long.
He’s bleeding out, his body a mangled mess of wounds as he chokes on his blood, trying to speak.
No sound comes.
“The final cut.” Monty meets Wolf’s stare. “It’s yours.”
Wolf leans over Rhett, his hand gripping the handle of the fillet knife as he sinks it into Rhett’s chest one last time, slowly, deliberately. The seconds tick by, and he continues to push that blade, millimeter by millimeter, while staring into Rhett’s eyes.