Page 66 of Coerced Wife
I smile. “Did you really think you could fuck with me and get away with it?” I click my tongue. “Your bad, Kearney.”
He wheezes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Try again.”
“W–what do you want?”
“I’m going to make you pay for what you did to her.” I bring my face close to his and tell him in a soft, low voice, “Nod if you know who I’m talking about, but don’t you dare say her name unless you’re happy to part with your tongue.”
He nods frantically, his eyes bulging as the blade nicks his skin.
“Good,” I drawl. “I’m a fair man, so I’m going to give you two choices.”
I flick my fingers at which the man on my right takes the M-80 firecracker from his pocket and shows it to Kearney.
“One, I light this baby and shove it nice and deep up your ass. It should make some fireworks when it goes off.You may require reconstructive prostate surgery if you don’t bleed out. Whatever the case, you’ll never know the pleasure of climaxing again.”
He starts to shake under the covers, his legs trembling under the sheet and his chest heaving in his black silk pajama shirt.
“Two.” I lean closer still, looking him straight in the eyes. Whatever he sees in mine makes him piss himself. I hear the trickle before I smell it.
“Goddamn,” I say, turning my face away in disgust as the pungent smell of ammonia mixed with the asparagus he had for dinner climbs up my nose.
“I–I don’t?—”
“Two,” I repeat, shutting him up by pressing the blade harder and drawing a thicker line of blood. “I amputate your dick. Balls too. That way, you can’t make any more illegitimate children.”
He stutters and slobbers, a bubble of snot blowing from his left nostril.
“Choices, choices,” I say. “They’re not always easy to make, are they? Whatever you decide, when you call an ambulance, you better say you fell on a meat axe and chopped off your junk, or I will amputate every part of you one by one until someone has to push your trunk around in a cart on wheels. If you choose the first option, you can always say you wanted to use your asshole as a candlestick, but all that pressure felt so good in your ass that your butthole sucked that firecracker real deep when you came.” I trace the vein that pulses in his neck with the tip of the blade. “What’s it going to be, Kearney?”
He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His lips flap like a fish on dry ground.
I nod at my men. Four each grab an arm and a leg, spread-eagling him.
“Front or back, Kearney?” I ask, straightening. “On which side are we holding you down?”
Before he can utter a word, Giorgio lifts his knife and stabs it right into the center of Kearney’s chest.
My men jump back.
“What the fuck, Giorgio?” one of them says.
A series of maniacal blows follows as Giorgio loses his shit and stabs the man on the bed until his upper body is a punctured mess covered by strips of blood-drenched silk.
We all stand there, shellshocked and splattered with blood.
His chest heaving from the exertion, Giorgio stumbles when he stands upright. He wipes a forearm over his brow, smearing blood over his face.
“Fuck,” someone says.
Giorgio spits on the corpse. “Nobody fucking messes with us.” He turns to the men. “Wreck the house. Take everything that’s valuable. We have to make it look like a robbery.”
With that, he walks from the room, almost tripping over his own feet.
The men look at me, waiting.
“Do it,” I say, gnashing my teeth.