Page 120 of Perilous

I don’t hesitate when I growl and call up a chunk of spit from the back of my throat and spit at his face.

God, that felt so fucking good to do.

Peri produces a large knife.

I shake my head.

He moves closer to myself and my mother. He leans down again.

“You’re going to do it together,” he growls. “Slit his fucking throat. Then I’ll handle the rest.”

Peri inches away and I look at my mother. I see the hesitation in her face, the same as me.

Peri places the knife into my hand. He takes my mother’s left hand and wraps it around my hand.

We have to do this.

Three men in masks hold my father steady. His hands are tied behind his back. Peri holds his hair, pulling his head back, making sure his throat is completely exposed.

It’s safe to admit I have zero experience in slitting someone’s throat. In fact, the only time I ever saw it was when Peri slit Molly’s throat.

My mother and I stand there. I channel everything.

My life. The lies.

My father sitting me down after school one day to tell me my mother was dead.

My father convincing me not to go to her funeral.

Lie after lie.

My father manipulating everything and then wanting to sell me.

He wanted to sell me!

I growl and find the strength and nerve to just do it. I pull my mother’s hand along with mine and I place the blade against my father’s throat. Instantly, the room begins to spin. Panic sets in. Hard. Anxiety makes me want to throw up.

But I’m not going to allow that to happen.

He. Deserves. This.

I look at my mother. She nods. Her grip tightens on my hand. She’s ready too.

“Please don’t do this,” my father says. “I loved you both. I still love you both. I made a mistake. That was it! A mistake!”

“Fuck you,” I say and I push.

Hard. Really hard. My mother pushes against my hand with her own force. The knife cuts into my father’s throat.

Blood leaks. Blood drips.

I move my hand forward and then quickly pull it back toward me. Literally slitting my own father’s throat open.

We drop the knife to the floor and blood starts to spray out of his neck as he tries to scream but can’t. He’s bleeding out. He’s… dying… At the hands of myself and my mother.

The man in the gold mask hands something to Peri. It’s another knife. This one with jagged teeth. Peri turns his head and lifts his mask up, showing his painted face.

“You can look away for this part,” Peri says. “It must be done.”

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