He didn't realize that we had already killed Tink, that his response would only fuel Crunch's fury. And mine.
Crunch wrapped chains around Fats, leaving his gag off so we could hear him scream. I wanted him to plead. To beg our forgiveness.
He did, the entire time.
I talked to him, explained how we would drag him behind the car, that the last thing he would see in life would be our faces. I wanted him to know.
Crunch took the wheel of the SUV and slowly picked up speed. We could hear Fats screaming in agony as he was dragged through the dirt, the sand grinding against his exposed flesh. Then Crunch stopped the vehicle, walked back to Fats, and stood over him while he pleaded, whined like a distraught child. Crunch bent down toward Fats, said something in his ear. Whatever it was, it had an immediate effect on Fats, who began wailing.
Wordlessly, Crunch returned to the wheel of the vehicle, and this time, floored the gas pedal. The dust billowed up behind us, a miniature dust storm. Fats' screams faded away quickly into the blackness of the night.
Blaze stood there silently, watching. When it was over, not much of Fats remained.
"Mud is mine," I said. He killed my father. Tied him to a chair and beat him to a pulp.
In Benicio's warehouse, his kill room, we tied Mud to a chair, restrained him the same way he'd restrained my father before he beat him to death.
It was more poetic that way, I figured.
There was a special place in hell for people like Mud. But on this earth, I had my own kind of hell prepared for the man who had killed my father.
When he saw the blade, his eyes got big. Like the others, he pleaded for his life. Said he had a girlfriend. "Please," he whined. "Mad Dog. It was all Mad Dog's doing."
Standing behind him, I brought the blade close to his face, ran it along his jawline. Reaching down to the side of his neck, I felt his pulse.
"Your pulse is through the roof," I said, my voice calm, friendly. "It's not healthy, your pulse racing like that."
Mud begged. "Please, man, you don't have to do this."
From the side of the room, Crunch stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me.
I pricked the skin on Mud's face with the tip of the blade, watching blood bead up on his face, drip slowly down his cheek.
Mud whimpered.
I talked to him, my tone measured. "You know," I said. "People associate scalping with the Native Americans, but it's found throughout ancient societies, back to the Greeks and Romans."
I heard Mud whine.
"Do you know what scalping involves, Mud?" I asked, the blade still against his cheek.
He didn't respond intelligibly, instead making a strangled sound.
"Speak up, Mud," I said. "It's impolite not to answer when you're asked a question."
"Ye -yes," he choked out, tears streaming down his face. The stench of piss filled the air.
"Good," I said. "The thing about scalping is that it doesn't necessarily kill you."
"Oh, God," he pleaded.
I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "God can't save you now." Then I stood up, looked toward Crunch. He nodded, and I began.
I talked to him throughout the process, calmly, telling him stories of the man who raised me. He didn't respond intelligibly after the first minute or so, alternating between passing out and screaming in agony when I revived him.
When I finally passed my blade across his throat, I expected to feel some satisfaction.
But there was nothing.
"Axe," June said, sitting up in bed, her hand over her mouth. "My God. Cade."
I crossed to the other side of the room in Benicio's place, bathed in the soft light of the small lamp she'd turned on. "I need to shower."
Her face was pale. I wasn't sure what I looked like, but I knew it wasn't good.
Not after all that had happened.
"Yes," she said. "I fell asleep. What time is it?"
"Almost morning. Go back to sleep."
She climbed out of bed, shaking her head. "Let me help you."
I stood, motionless, staring ahead while she undressed me, slowly pulling off my clothes. Then she turned on the shower. "I'll get rid of these clothes."
When I came out of the shower, she was in bed, the bedspread tucked up around her neck, Bailey snuggled up beside her. I slipped under the covers, slid into the bed with her and Bailey.
"How did it feel?" she asked. "Killing them."
"Like nothing," I whispered.
She turned around, facing me, her lips close to mine. "What do you mean?"
"I feel nothing anymore," I said. It was the truth. I felt like I was dead inside. I didn't feel rage, or hate. I just felt blank.
She was silent.
"If you knew what I did, you'd think I was a monster," I said.
"We're all monsters."
"Not all of us," I said. "Not you."
"I wanted you to do this, Cade," she said. "It makes me the same as you."
"Blaze wants us to bring Mad Dog to the club, let the club decide his fate."
"What do you want to do?"
What did I want to do?
I exhaled heavily. "I want to be done with it all."
"Will we be running from this forever?"
She said we. She was willing to run with me.