Page 68 of Carver

Carver reached one hand out and smacked the guy on the side of the face.

“That means this is going to hurt a lot more than it would have. You could have come to me. Could have said you wanted to work more, make some money. You could have asked to leave the Angels, go on your way and do something else. Instead, you lied, you cheated, you stole, and you put money into something as sick as you did. There's no other choice.”

Carver stood, then turned around to face the men behind him. He had no reason to worry about the man strapped to the chair. Even if he tried to jolt his body, he couldn't hurt Carver. He knew because he had tied the ropes himself.

His men were standing there, surrounding them with curious looks. Carver took a step forward and held his arms wide.

"Welcome, Angels. Today we have a special show for you." His voice echoed, booming through the cavernous space. The men looked from him to Gator and back.

A few had obviously picked up on what this was. Some, especially the probies, who had just turned full Angels in the last week, were confused.

Carver turned and pointed towards Gator. “This piece of shit right here stole from our club. He took money that didn't belong to him and used it for his own purposes. I won't go into all the details of it, but we traced it back to him. And now he has to meet the consequences.”

Slayer stepped forward. He crossed his arms, and Carver dipped his head to say he could go ahead and speak. "Do you need a hand, Boss? It sounds like fun."

Carver let his expression show the anger he felt. He let the mask that he had put on to contain his rage fall.

The second it did, Slayer stepped back with hands raised. "Looks like you've got it."

Some of the men blanched, not fully aware how dark their boss could be.

Carver spoke again, voice strong and clear as he said, "You all will say what you want about me after this, but it is in your best interest to see that your president is an effective leader. I will dish out justice where I see fit. Today I'm going to beat this piece of shit until he is with us no more. And you're going to watch. You're going to learn why they call me The Butcher."

Carver held his hand out in the direction he knew Trix would be standing. A meat cleaver was placed in his hand. Then an apron was swung over his head, and he felt the straps being tied behind his back.

Trix clapped him on the shoulder whispering, "Have fun!" before he giggled and skipped away to stand with the other men.

When Carver turned back to Gator, he saw that the plastic had been laid out and the hose was right where he wanted it. He spun the cleaver in his hand, looking like something out of an action movie, as he slowly stepped forward.

The blade in his hand was sharp, far more sharp than he would have liked at the moment. But he quite enjoyed hacking off fingers and extremities. You couldn’t do that with a dull blade, not unless you really wanted to look like a psycho from the force and damage it caused. He didn’t care all that much. Maybe next time he’d ask for something less efficient. He’d give it thought when he wasn’t in the heat of the moment.

Carver sighed as he grazed Gator’s cheek with the blade, drawing the first bits of blood.It was going to be a good day.

He went to work, carving away at the traitor before him. His mind wandered to his boy, to the past, and even to the future they could have. He let the anger at what he had missed swell up and pour out of him as he sliced away.

The only time he paused was to loosen the ropes so Gator’s body could land on the plastic covering the floor. By then, the traitor had been too weak to fight back.

Each swing of his cleaver brought Carver pleasure. He hacked away at fingers and toes. When those were gone he moved on to random parts of the body, chopping the forearm in the middle, hacking into the shoulder.

He knew that Gator was dead long before he finished, but he didn't want to stop. Carver was enjoying the rush too much. It was just like he’d said. The minute he began, his restraint withered.

Eventually, he dropped the cleaver and began to punch Gator’s mutilated form. Next, he stomped his boots against what remained a few times for good measure.

When he finally finished, his breaths were coming in heavy, and there was nothing left that was recognizable.

Carver turned to his men and smiled. Blood covered every inch of him, dripping from his hands and face.

The apron he wore, despite being black to hide the carnage, was moist against him, having absorbed so much of the blood he spilled. He could even taste the copper on his lips. It didn't deter him from giving them a gruesome smile.

“Does anyone else want to confess their sins to The Butcher?” he asked curiously.

The men shook their heads quickly.

Trix came over with the sprayer and pointed it at Carver. “Do you want me to?”

Carver closed his eyes and nodded, holding his arms out. Warm water hit his skin, rinsing the bulk of the mess away. He was thankful for all the drains in the floor that would get rid of the evidence. Carver would still need a shower, but this way, he wouldn’t trail anything in his wake.

Though, it didn't matter all that much because the police didn't come out that way. They were secluded enough to prevent it. At least on this part of their land they were.