I wrap the twine around him, as tight as I can. He tries to cradle his hands to his chest, but I don’t think. I just hit him in the side of the face and he groans, his head snapping to the side. I don’t look up. I just keep digging in the plastic twine deeper into the skin of his wrists, and it’s already leaving imprints in his flesh, something that causes joy to swell in my chest.
He’s crying in earnest now, apologizing too, as if I give a fuck about an apology.
I reach behind me, in the passenger seat, snatch up the switchblade and thumb the latch. After I knot the rope, I cut it off, toss the spool in the front floorboard.
My neck is cramping, my back, too, being folded at this angle in my car, but I can’t resist.
I bring the sharp blade to his inner thigh, refusing to look at his fucking cock. Refusing to think about where it’s been. Who he’s hurt. If he ever touched her that way, maybe before she was sold. Fuck, maybe even after. Maybe they passed her around.
Maybe he was her first.
My fingers tremble as I hold his gaze and the knife slips, cutting him.
I know, because he hisses, glancing down with wide eyes.
“Jeremiah, I never meant to—”
“Stop talking or I’ll cut your fucking balls off and feed them to you.”
He stops talking, his eyes full of tears as he stares at me.
“You’re a weak fuck. Your wife is—was—a weak bitch.” And after I killed her, he tried to run.
Fucking dick.
“You two deserved each other, and you deserve everything I’m going to do to you when I get back.”
He glances at the door of the car, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking I’m going to leave him just like this, let him run off.
He’s thinking I’m not so fucking smart.
He’s obviously thinking wrong.
I rotate my neck, the blade still against his thigh. Then I cock my fist back on my right hand and hit him in the side of the head.
His neck seems to snap back as he grunts, his eyes rolling back in his head, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t enough to keep him out for as long as I need him for.
So I hit him again.
And again.
And again, until blood stains my knuckles and the side of his head, and he isn’t crying anymore because he’s not doing much of anything anymore.
I have to check his pulse when I’m done, my breathing ragged, heart racing.
He’s still alive, which is, in this case, a blessing.
I need her to know.
I need her to know what I did to him. I need to let her have a chance to fuck him up, too.
When I’m out of the car, the knife with me, the keys, too, and the doors locked, I lean against the driver’s side door, bowing my head.
I hate the feel of his blood on my hand, but I don’t dare try to clean it off.
I feel pressure building behind my eyes.
The taste of freedom on the tip of my fucking tongue out in this dark forest.
We’re going to be free.
We’re going to leave this fucking place behind.
I’ll build an empire somewhere else, with her by my side.
And these fuckers will never hurt us again.
Fuck them all.
When I wake up in the night, the first thing I remember is my brothers inside of my wife.
The second thing, though…the second thing is much worse.
I feel like I’m going to puke, and I roll over in the bed, my arm dangling off the side as I kick the sheet off of me, trying to be careful not to disturb her.
But…fuck that.
My stomach convulses, and my head is spinning, mouth dry. I blink in the darkness. Think about Cain and the others leaving us here.
Because Edith…apparently, they found her?
Everything is a blur in my mind.
I close my eyes, clench one hand in the sheets as I hold my breath, hoping that memory is wrong. Hoping I’m just having a fucking nightmare.
Hoping there’s something to hold onto with us.
That this isn’t over. She didn’t really let him carve his fucking name into her belly.
I stumble off the bed, spinning around, casting my eyes about the darkness, only a sliver of moonlight through the expanse of windows to see by. But I do see her, curled up into a ball on her side, covers pulled up to her chin.