Page 48 of Good As Hell

Rolling over, he pulls me on top of him, proving he’s a man of his word, starting all over again.

Chapter Sixteen

THE RECKONING ~THE BLACK SITE

HASSAN

The smell of blood is pungent. The briny, brackishness of the water fills my nose. A lesser man would probably feel queasy, but this is light work for me. A reminder of my responsibility as a man, a husband and one day sovereign. If an Al Rasheed passes down a death sentence, he carries it out. And these in particular I take great pleasure in doing. They dare make an attempt on Lyric’s life. For that, they will pay with their own. But first, these motherfuckers have to suffer.

“We do this the old way,” I told Moussa right before we began and the unhinged motherfucker smiled wildly.

There’s nothing I like better than putting work in. Finding and putting an end to Asif’s cohorts is exactly that.

If I could bring his ass back from the deed the car crashing did in breaking his traitorous neck, I would. To think I placed that which is most scared to me in the world to that man’s hands only to have him collude with cowards to take her life galls me. It’s unforgivable. My atonement will never cease until they all breathe dirt.

“Flip him.”

Slowly Moussa cranks the wheel, and the body strapped to the X carved from a baobab tree is turned upside down. Pulling out a thirteen inch nail I’ve had specially forged from iron, I move over to the blind figure idly swinging my favorite mallet. His gouged out eyes are black holes. He will wonder forever lost in the afterlife. He’s also be looking for his fucking head, but I can’t get ahead of myself. I have tasks ahead of me.

His body lurches when he senses me nearing. I roll my eyes as he twists and screams like the bitch ass coward he is.

This is more for effect than anything on my part. He’s going to spill his guts. They all do. Everyone breaks — everyone. Only not at the same time.

Normally, I can be a patient man, but I want to be with my wife and son.

She tried to leave you. The insidious whispers reminding me.

It doesn’t matter, she’s mine. I counter stepping up to the now slumping figure — poor thing has tired himself out. Driving the thickly forged nail through his foot and into the wood base, I smile, relishing the crunch of bone as I shatter his foot. In quick succession, I move to the other, damn near tearing the appendage apart. Maybe it’s the angle, but his baby toe drops to the cement. I kick it over to the three men waiting their turn. It’s almost comical the way they dance away from it as best they can, bound as they are.

“Mine. You dared to harm that which is mine.”

I walk back to the table, taking my time to choose another nail. Palming it. I address the other men assigned the task of forming the team to carry out the attack on Lyric’s caravan.

“Now. What would possess you to move against your sovereign that way?” I muse not to the babbling idiot who’s near drowned in his own blood from the gash where his tongue used to be — Asif’s first cousin.

The others, more of his kin, huddled in the corner awaiting their turn on the X.

They raise their arms as best they can over their heads, trying to show obeisance.

Casting my gaze to Moussa, I watch him smirk. As if on cue, they fall to their knees. Pleading for their lives. Sheep. Disgusting.

“I’ll make this easy for you, gentleman — or not,” Looking at the array of instruments before me I take out the skinner, bone scrapper, gut hook knife, a double handle fishing knife and a good old buck knife all hand-forged in Damascus steel.

I hear a whimper. The small group shifts when one of them wets his pants.

“Now, you are going to die. That is a given. However, your families will be allowed to live. Something I think whoever put you to this task thought little about when they sought to kill my wife.”

“Speak.” Moussa barks in a thunderous tone.

“Asif, said it was you, Your Highness. He said you wanted to be rid of the High Consort. You thought she was a disgrace and brought shame upon the Al Rasheed line —”

“What?” My voice is soft. Pure rage making it so.

“That she is a grave haram. That you wished her to die and to make it look like an attack from a separatist group.”

“And you believed that, or was it the five hundred thousand dirhams that convince you?” Bored because I’m so used to some idiot saying they did something because it was my wish, as if this lowly cunt could ever know the mind of a king. That in itself is insult enough.

“See this problem with scum like you. You think you are too clever by half. Why would His Highness use you when he has men such as me?” Moussa seems to take affront at having hishard work questioned. Walking over to the group, he quickly snaps the one who dared offend him’s neck.

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