Page 10 of Stabby Little

“It's not disgusting.” I set the hand back on the table. “It's my prize. You should be proud.”

“Well, get yourprizeoff the coffee table.” Finn checks his nails. “You'll attract rats.”

I stare at Gordon's hand. All right, it's not the most pleasant thing to look at, especially in our living room.

A book filled with Renaissance art or Italian portraiture would be a better vibe for our cramped apartment, but beggars can't be choosers.

“Are you even going to ask whose hand it is?” I query.

God, I do all this work to transport this body part back to our apartment and my friends don't even ask me where I got it. Where's the fun in that?

“I don't want to know.” Finn makes a face. “The less you tell me, the better.”

“Quit being such a spoilsport,” Sparrow drawls, issuing me a knowing wink. “Tell us where you got the hand. I hope it's one of the Diavolo brothers'.”

“Gordon Moreno.” I stick my chin out as proudly as I can. “I manipulated the hell out of him this afternoon and won.”

“And?”

I tell my friends the story of how I tricked the FedEx driver to stop on the street and tied him up in the back of his van. I tell them I channeled my inner sex worker-slash-serial killer and gave Gordon what he deserved.

“I'm proud of you.” Sparrow pats me on the back. “You have balls. That man was horrendous to us in the warehouse.”

“Thank you.”

Finn isn't so impressed. “You didn't have to chop off his hand. That's some serial killer shit. We're getting revenge on our abusers, not training to be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You should be grateful I killed Gordon. He raped the Room A boys every Thursday night.”

The Diavolos divided the warehouse basement into three rooms. Room A contained the underage boys used for sex trafficking. Room B contained the boys over eighteen. Room C contained children for the black market adoption trade. They sometimes moved the Room C boys into Room A and Room B if no one adopted them.

Gordon was a Room A lover through and through. He no longer visited us once we aged out of his preferred bracket.

“Iamgrateful,” Finn protests, although he doesn't sound grateful. “But we need to be smarter. The Diavolos will go through the roof when they realize Gordon's hand is missing.”

“Why?”

“It no longer looks like a botched robbery. Robbers don't cut off their victims' hands if they refuse to give them cash.”

Sparrow places his palm on Finn's thigh. “You're getting a little worked up. Let's do some yoga.”

Finn glares at the hand on the table. “Throw that thing out. I don't want it in our house.”

“Gordon.” Sparrow picks up his little black book and uncaps his pen. The guards had black books full of clients that we stole before we escaped. They contain the names of our abusers. “I'll cross him off the list. Thanks for completing our first kill.”

There it is.

My friend's praise.

After the shit we went through, it's music to my ears. We were the only allies we had in the warehouse and we stuck with each other through thick and thin. You get closer to your friends in that type of situation than you ever could in the outside world.

Therealworld.

I'm still getting used to navigating this place.

“You're welcome.” I pull my knife out of my sock and set it next to me. It's still dripping in Gordon's blood. I make a mental note to throw it in the dishwasher.

“Here.”

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