Doc (Ruthless Kings MC #7) - K.L. Savage Page 0,96
what’s mine. You fucking dare!” I say, carving my own scars into his back. I drag it all the way down until his ass bleeds. “You dare hurt my family. And for what? You knew she was with us.”
He can’t say anything. He’s barely conscious. The drug, the pain, he can’t handle it. I cut a path down the middle of his back until his spine shows. “Do you know, all I have to do is damage this area,” I tease my scalpel around the spinal cord, threatening to cut it, “and you’ll be paralyzed.” I filet him open like a fucking fish, and memories flash in my mind of when my dad did the same to me. “But then you wouldn’t be able to feel what I’m going to do to you.”
“Cut him! Cut him! Cut him! Cut him!” The crowd stomps and chants, loving what they’re seeing.
“Jo?” I hold the bloody scalpel out, and I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far. Blood drips down my hand, to my elbow, and then a bead falls to the floor.
She hobbles over and lays the crutches down as she lowers herself onto the floor carefully. I rethink what I offered her and wonder if I want her to bear this burden. I pull the scalpel away, but she grabs onto it, and the sharp blade digs into her palm. She’s used to the pain of a sharp knife digging into her skin.
My badass, tortured, strong, resilient woman has determination, anger, and the need to cut something other than herself.
We’re different, but in the ways that matter we’re very much the same.
Our cuts run so deep they run into one another, creating extra veins for our blood to flow into. When we don’t have life left in our bodies to give to the world, we give strength to the other. We’re interwoven through the divots in our skin.
The thirst for retribution is bright, gleaming off the scalpel. She places it against the back of his shoulder and glides it down the hint of free space I left for her. The crowd cheers, and Reaper’s laugh booms, but it’s all background noise.
It’s all static as a tear leaves her eyes and travels down to the curve of her smile.
There’s. My. Woman.
All fucked up and pretty, just for me.
“I trusted you,” she whispers, his body wiggling to get away, but the drug coursing through his veins doesn’t allow him to. “You were … you were my best friend.” She digs the sharp instrument down his other side. Deeper and much more painful with how he’s screaming. Her fist is wrapped around the silver handle as if she’s trying to shove it as far in his body as it will go. “You were … my friend!” she shouts, her voice breaking.
“How does it feel, Brody? To say no, to beg, to plead, to scream. To know that no matter what you do, nothing will stop me? How does that make you feel?” She shoves two fingers into one of the wounds, and he vomits up the beer, spewing it all over Tool’s boots.
“Fuck you. I just had these polished.” Tool jerks away and kicks his right foot out to sling the puke off, then he kicks Brody in the face, crunching his jaw.
Jo chuckles as the wet sounds of her fingers rub through the blood and flesh squelches. “I knew you’d feel this fucking good,” she says to him.
I have a feeling that’s what he said to her.
He gasps when she removes her hand from the wound above his ribs, and then she drops her attention to his ass, cocking her head to the left, then right, debating what she wants to do. I wonder if she’s thinking he looks like me now… I hope not.
She twirls the scalpel in the air, staring at it, then she glances at his ass. She spreads his cheeks and then thrusts the sharp end inside.
Brody doesn’t even scream. He passes out from the pain, just like the coward he is.
The more she twists the scalpel in his wound, the more she cuts, and the more blood that flows out of his flesh.
“Oh no! You don’t get off that easily, asshole,” I mutter and snatch the can of beer Tool is drinking and pour it over Brody’s head to wake him up. The liquid flows into his ear and cleans out the wound graciously on his cheek, before dripping down his lips.