Page 47 of Keeping Her Under

“You going to stab me, bitch?”

“No.” Starting at the bottom of his shirt, I cut it up the middle.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice rises in a panic.

I calmly cut through the straps of his white tank top. Pushing the fabric back, I let it hang on the screws. Then I work on cutting off his shorts.

“I ain’t fucking gay!” he screams before throwing slurs at me. I count each and every one. Then I pick the scalpel up and tally them into his skin.

Not for Summer, but for Asher.

Lance might have never met us before; he might not have even been born when Asher got beat up for liking dick, but he’s part of the community that ostracized my cousin. He supports it. He partakes in it. And he will fucking pay for it.

I slice his chest until he’s a whimpering mess. I place the blade beneath his left nipple.

“You saw her that morning,” I say as I straighten. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing!”

I cut his nipple off with a flick of my wrist, then move to his other one as he screams. “You tracked her down, texted her, and then did nothing?”

“I was going to! But the bitch left!”

“You follow her?”

“My fucking car wouldn’t start!”

So she crashed into the tree herself. But was she driving in a panic and simply took the corner too fast? Or did she do it on purpose, scared he’d find her again? Either way, it happened because of him.

Pulling out my phone, I call Asher. As soon as he picks up, I say, “Bring the dogs over.”

I hang up before he can ask any questions. Then I turn my attention back to Lance. “How many times did you hit her?”

I pick the scalpel up. His eyes fly to it. The pain on his face is erased by rage. “The fucking bitch deserved it! And I’m going to beat your ass too, you mother fucker!” He tries to jerk towards me, only to flinch back in pain.

“Well?” I taunt, standing still.

“Untie me then, you fucking fa–”

My hand snaps forward. I place the scalpel inside his mouth. It’s angled against one corner of his lips.

His slur dies quick.

I cut him anyway, slicing his cheek all the way through.

He screams.

Spittle and blood flies onto me. He jerks free of some of his screws if the gush of blood is anything to go by. I glance down at the puddle of red on the floor, calculating if I need to patch him up before I continue. I don’t want him bleeding out on me, but he doesn’t look to have lost that much.

Turning back to the box, I grab a fresh lemon and start to peel it with the scalpel. Then I crouch down and cut him dozens of times across the top of his feet. He screams in utter agony. I stab the blade into the lemon, getting it all nice and wet.

I move up his ankles. His shins. I get up to his waist by the time Asher arrives.

The dogs start barking and snarling immediately. My cousin curses as he struggles to hold them. The hairs on my neck stand up, and I turn around, ready to kill them if they lunge for me.

But Asher has them muzzled.

Fuck. He’ll never forgive me if I kill them now.