Page 80 of City of Wind and Lies

"I-I di-didn't," he stutters with strangled grasps.

"Didn't what?" I ask, reaching up to see if his hands still have feeling in them.

He cries out in answer as the bone in his thumb snaps.

"Didn't think I'd catch onto you stealing from me to pay your debts to Belluci?" I ask, pacing around him. "Or didn't think I wouldn't come for the pathetic sack of flesh that attacked my girl in the streets?"

His mouth hinges open as he pants in pain. "She cost me everything."

"Don't you ever fucking blame her for the tribulations you brought on yourself," I growl, rearing back my fist and landing a jab square to his nose. The cartilage shatters beneath my knuckles as bright crimson blood pours down his face. I continue my intimidation, drowning out his wails.

"I was willing to let you walk away, wash my hands of you. But no, you had to come back and touch something that wasn't yours!"

With one hand, I yank his wrist towards me, fucking ecstatic that this man is short enough I can move forward with my fantasy without releasing him from his binds. I slide the cigar cutter over his mangled thumb and squeeze. He shrieks in agony as blood squirts out, trailing down his arm, and the digit falls to the plastic beneath us with a thud.

"You're lucky, you know." I crouch down, plucking his thumb from the ground, eyeing it as I straighten and stand. "If she'd lost the baby, I'd be peeling your skin off with acid and rolling you in salt instead."

Allen pales at my words, though I'm not stupid enough to think that he's feeling an ounce of remorse for beating a pregnant woman. No, he's feeling the full weight of how royally he fucked up.

I grab his face roughly, pressing my thumb into one side of his jaw and four fingers into the other until his mouth pops open. I shove his mangled thumb to the back of his throat until his gag reflex kicks in. Forcing his mouth shut and holding it closed, I pinch his nose to cut off his oxygen. Bringing my face just an inch from his, I grit out, "Swallow."

He whimpers, face reddening as he tries to resist, but his body fights for air and his throat bobs, giving him no other choice but to do as he’s told.

The moment I release my grip, he starts to retch, and judging by the beads of sweat blossoming on his forehead and the sallowness of his skin, I'll need to work faster if I really want him to feel the pain.

I reach for his hands again, sliding the cigar cutter down his forefinger. As the blade bites into his flesh, he tries to bargain with me.

"Stop! Stop!" he shouts. "I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

I scoff. "What information of value could you possibly have?"

"He sells drugs!"

Allen wails in pain as his severed forefinger falls to the ground. "Try again."

"H-he, uh," he stutters. "He's coming for you."

Now that gives me pause. "What do you mean?"

"I overheard him!" He sucks in a greedy gasp of air, trying to still the shaking in his voice. "He wants everything you have."

The news is no surprise to me- Gabriel has always mimicked my actions in his own organization. My old man said his father was the same way; so blinded by the thrill and power that nothing was ever off limits. I witnessed it firsthand the night I killed Frankie Fracassi, when Mario Belluci came charging into the mansion after me looking for any female staff he could take to sell.

My father put two bullets into the back of Mario's head as he was dragging a woman from her bed. That night solidified the animosity between the Belluci family and our own. I was sent away to tell my old man's second while he swept the mansion for any other loose ends. We all went underground after that, working in the shadows to preserve our own families. But apparently through all these years of fake pleasantries, Gabriel has been biding his time waiting for me to have a weakness he can exploit.

"Unfortunately for you, I already knew that." Letting out a chuckle, I clip off his middle and ring fingers knuckle by knuckle. He passes out after the pinky, so before waking him, I have Rhodes cauterize what's left of his hand.

Water splashes over him, his body sagging before me as he lifts his head groggily. "P-please," he begs.

"Let him down," I instruct, tossing the cigar cutter to the floor.

Rhodes abides, Allen's body falling to the plastic sheeting below him. "Thank you," he mumbles, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes.

Taking a step closer, I raise my leg, slamming my foot down on his face and earning me a body-wracking sob that reminds me of the way Wren's body shook in the hospital bed the night she was attacked.

I press my foot onto his throat, drawing my Glock from the back of my waistband and clicking off the safety. Aiming at his foot, I pull the trigger and in rapid succession, I puncture his paunchy body full of holes. His fingers claw at my ankle, body surging as each bullet lodges itself inside him. His strangled cries lessen after each one, slowly losing his fight as blood pools on the plastic beneath him. His face is drained of all color when I finally point the barrel between his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” I say, pulling the trigger. Blood and brain matter splatter around his head, the pants of my gray slacks staining a signature crimson color that confirms his mortality is at an end.

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