Frankie picked up a small, silver blade and examined the edge with the pad of his thumb. When he was satisfied with its sharpness, he sauntered over towards Andrew, waving it back and forth.
“You ready for sentencing, old man?”
Andrew lifted his head and looked Frankie in the eye. There was no fear in his expression; only a weariness that could even have been acceptance. Davie held his breath as he waited for what was to come.
This is going to be bad.
Frankie pointed the knife in Andrew’s face and scowled. “Swallowed your fucking tongue?”
Andrew spat; a mixture of blood and saliva that hit Frankie right in his face.
Frankie’s twitch went into overdrive. It suddenly occurred to Davie that his brother never had a facial tick before he went inside. It was just one more thing that didn’t make any sense to Davie.
What the hell happened to you?
Frankie placed the blade against the flesh below Andrew’s left eye. “You going to wish you never did that, gangster. Nobody disses me and walks away clean.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” said Andrew. He sounded calm, but his breathing was quickening and his voice was unsteady.
Frankie smiled. “We going to see how much of a fuck you don’t give, old man.” He removed the knife from Andrew’s face and marched over to the sofa so that he was standing directly behind Penelope. “You positive I can’t make you care?”
Andrew’s eyes widened, despite their swelling. “Don’t!”
“Don’t what?” said Frankie. “Don’t do this?”
Frankie drew the blade across the side of Penelope’s face, drawing a slick line of blood as he flayed open her flesh. At first she remained silent, still trapped by whatever daze imprisoned her mind, but then she snapped back to reality, letting out a high-pitched wail that could have cracked crystal. Frankie wrapped a hand around her mouth and stifled her.
From beside Davie, Rebecca struggled to get free. He had to put both hands on her to keep her in place. He wasn’t trying to help Frankie; Davie was trying to keep her from getting hurt as well.
“Thought you didn’t give a fuck?” Frankie said to Andrew as he etched another long slice across Penelope’s face. “Looks like you care now!”
No one said anything, the air tense enough to carry electric. Frankie continued gagging Penelope with his hand, only letting her go once her sobbing had quieted down. She shook and trembled when he released her.
Frankie cricked his neck to the side and shuddered. “Damn, that was fun.”
“You sick fuck!” Andrew cursed him. “You sick sick fucker!”
“Those cuts are deep, bro,” Dom commented. “They ain’t ever going to heal right. Scarred for life.”
Davie agreed. The cuts on both side of Penelope’s face were thick and ragged. But, along with her shaved head and the other abuses of the night, Davie knew that the deepest scars would be the ones inside her mind. Frankie had caused damage that no amount of therapy would ever cure.
“Can I cut someone now?” Michelle asked almost innocently, as if she was an eight-year old asking to taste her daddy’s wine.
Frankie offered out the knife. “Sure thing, sweets.”
Michelle took the knife and immediately headed for Rebecca.
Frankie put a hand out and stopped her. “Not so fast, baby girl. No one touches the girl but me.”
Michelle’s entire face drooped. “Seriously? Come on! Just let me cut her a little bit. Slapper thinks she’s the shit. Needs bringing down a bit, if you ask me.”
Frankie didn’t speak. He just stared at Michelle, unblinking.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll slice her dad then.”
She took the knife over to Andrew who looked back at her defiantly. “How did a nice girl like Charlie ever have a friend like you?” he asked.
Michelle hissed at him. “I kicked that bitch to the curb long time ago. Thought she was better than me.”
“That’s because she is,” said Andrew.