Page 42 of Hunting Pretty

My large sharp knife made easy work of the surrounding skin and muscle, the tendons snapping as my blade cut through like butter.

But cutting through bone was harder than you’d think.

Especially when the knife was now slick with his blood.

And the disgusting pig was squirming to get away from me.

It would have been easier with a cleaver, but I didn’t have one on me. And I didn’t think to stop by his kitchen on the way here.

“Hold still,” I grumbled, blood making my grip on the knife slip.

I had to use a sawing motion.

The air stank of urine as he pissed all down his leg. Drool dripped from his mouth, hanging in long beads from his chin.

His hysterical shrieks were quite loud, despite the gag. I glanced through the window to check if Ava had heard anything, but she was still bent over her laptop.

Thankfully, he passed out within seconds.

Pussy.

Silence fell upon us apart from the squeaking sound of metal on bone.

With him unconscious, I repositioned myself over himand used my knee to hold down his forearm. This made it easier to put my whole weight into it.

The hand at last fell away from his forearm.

I took my knee off his forearm, his bone sticking out like a horror show, the blood soaking into the carpet.

It’d be a bitch to get out. I’d have to replace that carpet.

“That’s fortouchingAva.”

I tossed his right hand aside into the nearby fireplace.

But I wasn’t done. Yet.

I wiped the back of my bloody hand across my forehead and slapped his face. “Wake up.”

He went from motionless to screaming and thrashing in seconds.

He lifted his amputated arm and stared with wide, almost childlike eyes at the fountains of bubbling blood.

I grabbed him by his flaccid dick and my blade cut through his flesh like butter.

“That,” I said, “was forlookingat Ava.”

I tossed his shriveled cock into the fireplace next to his charred dismembered hand.

Sir Peterson let out a shriek like a banshee, garbled by the gag.

The sour stench of vomit filled the air as he retched out the side of the gag, choking.

He’d bleed out, if he didn’t suffocate first.

I almost felt bad for the bastard, bleeding out on the floor, handless and dickless, choking on his own vomit, lying in his own piss and shit.

But any pity or mercy I may have had for him was shattered the moment he touched Ava. The second he made her feel afraid.

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