Page 94 of Marked

“Only because that man saved her,” I scoff. “If you weren’tsitting on your asshole, I’d stick this up there and cut you in two.” I tap the tip of the scalpel against his nose.

I drop the tool back onto the surgical prep table and pick up my knife. The one Zack gave me. I also pick up the pistol and look it over. I’ve never fired a gun before, but it can’t be that hard at close range.

“Zack, do I just pull this thingy back and fire?” I show him the hammer.

He smiles. I’m making him proud; I think. It warms me, the idea that he’s proud.

“You got it. When you pull back the hammer, the bullet moves to the chamber. Just aim and shoot then,” he explains.

“If I shoot him in the head, there’ll be brains everywhere though, right?” I scrunch up my nose. Cleaning up that mess will be disgusting.

“Don’t worry about that. Just do what you want,” he encourages me. He always encourages. He’s my sounding board. My cheerleader.

“Jimmy.” I step up to him again. He’s lost in his own misery though, sobbing openly. So much for the tough Mafia boss persona he tries to portray.

I roll my eyes.

“Jimmy!” I kick his shin. His attention snaps to me.

“I’m going to give you a choice here. I’m feeling indecisive.” I show him the knife and the gun. “You’re a dead man. You know it and I do too, but I’m gonna let you decide. Eat a bullet, or a blade?”

Fat tears track down his face through the thick stubble of his five o’clock shadow.

“I have a wife.”

“Don’t care.” I shrug. “She’s better off without you. I’m sure of it.” I lift my hands. “Decide please.”

“Jimmy, she’s using her manners, you should cooperate before she loses them and you get whatever hell is coming to you,” Zack teases.

Jimmy looks from one of us to the other, then swallows.

“My cousin is going to kill you for this!” he screams, a desperate attempt that I can’t blame him for. His life is coming to an end. It’s hard to grasp that.

“Doesn’t change what’s happening here. Now, last chance. Choose. Or I can get my little scalpel back until you do?” I offer a third option. I’ll just slice him until he finally cooperates.

A sob breaks through.

“Fine,” he sniffs, trying to find courage that doesn’t live in his soul. “Gun. I’ll eat a bullet.” He nods, looking me straight in the eye.

“You’re sure?” I ask lifting one hand then the other.

“Yeah. The bullet.” He tries to raise his chin, like he’s going to go out with some dignity.

I pull back the hammer and aim the pistol at his head, stepping as close as I need to until the barrel is almost touching his forehead.

He shuts his eyes, resolved, I guess, for what’s coming.

I laugh.

How can I not?

This idiot.

His eyes fly open.

“You didn’t think I’d actually let you choose? Did you?” I stab the knife into his stomach, tossing the gun to the floor so I can use two hands. Grabbing the handle, I yank the knife to the side, gutting the bastard. It’s hard with all his muscle, but the blade is big enough to cut through. By the time I get to the end of his torso, my arms ache.

His scream cuts off quickly, as his insides become his outsides.

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