Page 51 of Toxic

The fucker still wasn’t ready for my movement. If he thought I was going to stand here like an asshole while he dropped that lighter, he was dead wrong. Emphasis on dead. I swung out in a sideways arc with my left hand, landing the hook in the man with the lighter’s neck. It wasn’t the kind that would stay lit once his thumb was off the tab, thankfully, so it fell harmlessly onto the ground.

With my right hand I swung the other hook like an uppercut and caught the other man in the thigh. The momentum of the swing took his leg up off the ground in a howl of agony as he fell on his back, grasping at his thigh.

Focusing back on the other man, I met his eyes right before I jerked my left hand back. My motion pulled the hook back toward me and took the first man’s throat out with it. Blood gushed as he fell to the ground near his buddy. He landed on top of his lighter.

That left the asshole with the leg injury. He was clutching at his leg and screaming. I wound my foot back and kicked his face like I was punting a football. The rising need inside me required that I spill their blood. That I make it so they could never be a threat to Billie ever again.

There was clapping behind me. Turning, I tightened my grip on the hay hooks, expecting to see another piece of shit that I would get to kill. Instead, I saw Butcher leaning against the wall.

“I’m so proud of you. Most guys would have reached for the axe over there. You went for the hooks. Personal touch.” He pretended to wipe a proud tear from his eye.

My grin was more a baring of teeth. “Just wait, we’re not done. Help me patch his leg before he bleeds out, then I’ve got a special treat for you.”

We cut a few strands of bailing twine off the now soaked hay bales and used it to tie a tourniquet around his leg. We dragged him and the corpse into a pen. Then, waited for him to wake up.

“Fuck this, I’m tired of waiting.” Butcher said after a whole two minutes. I hadn’t even finished breathing hard. He grabbed the water pail from inside a stall and dumped it on the man while simultaneously stepping on his leg wound. The fucker woke up with a scream. “Fucking finally. That’s better.”

The man looked around and, seeing he was soaked, started to panic.

“Relax pal, we wouldn’t soak you in gasoline,” I said. He relaxed and leaned back, relieved at the prospect of not being burned to death. “That would ruin the flavor and poison their stomachs.”

“What?”

I nodded over to the corpse. His eyes went wide with renewed panic. The pigs were absolutely going to town on his companion. “For such a gentle foraging pig, when you give them a corpse, they just absolutely gorge themselves. Fresh meat is a real treat for them.”

Panic was written all over the man’s face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay! We can work this out.” He struggled against his bonds, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to get out of that pen unless we let him out.

“Obviously.” I said, stepping forward with a pitchfork. “But that would ruin my fun.”

Butcher gave me a smile of disbelief. “This is why the others never believe me when I tell them you’re just as fucked in the head as me. You only ever do this shit around me.” I shrugged, ignoring his complaint. He reached his hand out to me. “I always wanted to use one of those.” He took the pitchfork.

“Really?” I asked “I figured you’d have an aversion to them.”

“Long handle, sharp spikes, why would I not want one?”

“Just figured that since villagers always showed up with them and torches you’d keep your distance.” I was joking around, but my gaze was on the asshole inside the pig pen. I didn’t want him getting the idea that he wasn’t going to die here in a few seconds.

“Fuck off,” Butcher said, then jabbed the man in the side. The forks sunk in a few inches. He pulled it out. “Nice!” He tossed the pitchfork from hand to hand as though checking the balance of it as a weapon. “This really isn’t bad.”

“Please!” The man begged, his bound hands clutching at his wound as much as possible.

“Yeah, let’s jump straight to the end shall we? You’re not paid enough to put up a real fight,” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared at him.

“They didn’t pay me,” he babbled. “I swear they didn’t.”

“So what?” I asked. “You did this just for the fun of it?”

“No, no, no!” he chanted, but I could see the fear in his eyes. He was lying. They’d either paid him, or he just tagged along so he could set fire to shit. Either way, he was fine with destroying the livelihood of a woman and watching innocent animals die in a horrific way. That meant I had no sympathy for him.

“Who is they?” Butcher demanded.

“I don’t know their names,” the guy wailed.

Sneering down at him in disgust, I asked, “Then what good are you?”

He looked between me and Butcher, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with some way to save his worthless life. “I have an address!” he said, his voice going up in pitch. “I can help. I have an address!” He was bleeding out onto the ground, but was doing his damndest to get out of this predicament.

Thanks to Rip, we already had a lot of information on Brently, but anything new would just help save time and effort on Rip’s part. So, we’d take the information he was offering up.

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