Page 62 of Devil's Savior

I took a step toward Hustle, and he stilled, freezing within the confines of real fear. It should have made me feel better, but it did not.

The idea of anyone speaking about my woman, of talking about her life like a game, was making me see red. With every breath I had to remind myself that she was fine, that she was safe.

But was she? The doubt creeped in.

“She’s fine, brother,” Prodigal stepped up to me and murmured the words low enough for only me to hear. “I just messaged the Prospect to make sure. He has eyes on her. She’s good.”

I nodded once and then took another slow, measured step toward Hustle. With only the added reach of the blade, I ran the tip from his knee to the top of his thigh. The coward tried to recoil, but he had nowhere to go.

How could he when he was attached to a chair and at our mercy. As if we would risk one of our guests getting loose. Fucking never.

When I did the same to his other leg, I put more pressure behind the drag of the machete tip along his skin. Red bloomed in the wake of the movement, his blood bubbling up from the wound I was more than happy to inflict.

That is when he started to blubber. He pleaded for his life. He begged.

I supposed he didn’t like the burning feeling of his skin being opened.

Somehow, I couldn’t find it in me to care.

“Did you want to ask about my woman again?” Since it was a genuine offer, I kept my voice pleasant, but there was an edge of steel and danger that couldn’t be denied.

He shook his head, his lips quivering and his eyes glassy. I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls in a chilling echo.

“I’ve barely even gotten started,” I taunted him. “And already you’re about to cry and hand over your left nut for me to stop the pain.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he insisted.

I made a tsking sound. “Seems you’ve forgotten about the last session you endured.” I glanced over at Scythe and shared a sinister smile with my brother. “He does do good work. I guess it’s possible you don’t really remember your screams spilling all your secrets and then some,” I mused.

He groaned and then fought against the bindings holding him in place. It was completely futile, which only fueled the laughter from myself and my brothers. The sound grew, holding court and beating his spirit into submission.

The next time I touched my machete to his skin, it was against the thin and sensitive skin of his shriveled and flaccid dick. That really brought out his fear.

But I didn’t give a single fuck.

As his screams echoed off the walls of the last room he would ever know, I plunged my machete between his legs and speared his dick and balls with sheer agony.

Blood started pooling around him almost immediately as his screams became raspy, painfilled moans. I could only laugh harder, the sound becoming a demon’s harmony to join the cadence and melody of my brothers.

When he passed out, Prodigal didn’t even hesitate to step forward with a bucket of ice water. Hustle started to sputter as he woke, his screams reaching the heavens with renewed vigor.

Slowly, the laughter stopped. As the last of us stopped cackling, the silence stretched around us. It grew with every beat of our hearts and every pump of blood as it left Hustle’s body.

That was a wound that wasn’t going to stop bleeding unless we got involved. When I looked at Lucifer, there was pride in his eyes. To my silent question, he shook his head once.

I grinned like the cat that ate the canary. My prey was in view, and I was closing in.

I didn’t get the chance for revenge with Anarchy because that right when to Prodigal first. I understood it, but it left me feeling dissatisfied for a long time. Anarchy is the one who shot my woman, and I couldn’t take his life.

Hustle’s screams became whimpers and then quieted to nothing. Only then did I start to circle his helpless form. “You fucked up, Hustle,” his name on my lips was filled with disdain. “You should have never become Martinez’s lap dog.”

He jolted in his seat, and I could see surprise in his eyes, even though they were drooping from pain and blood loss. I shook my head at him, the disgust and disappointment clear to see.

“You didn’t think we knew who you were really working for?” I admonished him, the sarcasm dripping from my words and forming oily puddles that would keep him tethered to his shame and stupidity, “Come on now. You should have known better.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

I smirked. “I’m going to send you to the devil. He’ll know what to do with you and give you a punishment to last until your soul begs for forgiveness.” I leaned toward him, sliding my machete in jerky patters along his torso. “It’ll never come.”

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