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"Do not," I say, side-eyeing him. "Max, good boy. Come here," I say, patting my knee again.
Reluctantly, Max pulls back, licking his chops. He stares at Kent with bloodlust, aching to tear into his meaty legs and abdomen. Later, dude. Later. We'll get to that very soon. I rub my fingers through his fur again, reveling in the feel of it beneath my fingertips. It almost grounds me, bringing me back to earth and away from the darkness trying to pull me in. If my darkness had its way, I'd sic Max on Kent's throat and laugh as he pulled it out. But I won't let it win. Not now, anyway. Maybe later.
"Not so tough, are you?" Jericho huffs, pacing beside Kent's chair with that blank expression. "I want to know why you were shaking hands with Elias White?"
Kent heaves a breath, eyeing Max, who obediently sits beside me.
"Nova is available, too," I say, nodding toward my other lion, watching us from her spot about ten feet away. "She looks hungry." I grin when Kent shudders, squeezing his hands into fists. Well, as much as he can still strapped down.
"Fucking lions," Kent whispers in slight hysterics, staring between the two with wide eyes. “You have two goddamn lions…” he trails off, shaking his head with a laugh. "Of course you do! Anything for the great sons of Gabriel Viotto. Fucking prick." He spits at the ground with a growl.
"They were a gift," Jer says, walking forward with his hands clasped behind his back. "Now, would you like to cooperate and tell us everything you know? You can't be the head of your little operation. Why were you shaking hands with Elias White?"
Kent's eyes whip back to him and narrow with rage brewing behind them. "Can't be the head?" he asks calmly, cocking his head.
"Impossible," Jer scoffs, pacing right before our victim. "There's no way you were smart enough to map out a way to gain an alliance with the Blue Spider Gang." He rolls his eyes for dramatic effect.
"You don't think I know what you're doing? These tactics are old and outdated. Your father taught you a lot of things, but fishing information from someone like me wasn't one of them," he spits, tightening against the restraints holding him to the flimsy wooden chair.
It could break with a little wiggling. In fact, I hope it does. I hope he runs, then I can sic my babies on him, laughing as they take him down and devour him. Ah. Now, that's dreaming.
‘Cuts,’ Shepp signs to Jer, then pulls a finger across his throat for dramatic effect.
‘Yes,’ I sign back with excitement. ‘Cut his skin to fucking flaps and let the cats have at him.’ I grin when Jericho blinks at us several times and then continues his pacing.
Jer shrugs. "Might be fun," he says, pulling out his large hunting knife. "What do you say, Kent? Large knife? Small knife? Gutting knife?" Jer turns on his toes, staring back at the man, eyeing his movements.
"Blood! Yes!" I hum, thrusting a fist in the air. "They love it so damn much."
Kent licks his lips, flinching when Jer runs the tip of the knife down his arm, cutting through his expensive black suit. "Tell me who else you're working with," he demands in a low voice, as he rips through the piece with his hands until skin shows through. "Tell me who else you've been dealing with." Another demand. Another rip of his suit.
Piece by piece, Jericho rips every shred of clothing from the man and tosses it aside.
"Nova will really like those," I stage whisper to Shepp, pointing to the man's nuts as they shrivel a little.
‘Again with the balls, dude,’ Shepp signs with exasperation, sending me a concerned look.
"You think getting me naked and threatening me with a knife will make me talk?" Kent goads with a smirk.
Ten seconds ago, he was pissing his pants because a lion was licking his bloodied face. I wonder how he'd take it if I asked Max to nibble on his toes or knees?
"And you think not answering my questions and antagonizing me will make me release you?" Jericho asks, walking a circle around the man with a manic gleam in his eye.
Jericho has a knack for blood. Me, too. He and I are two peas in a pod with boners for blood. Boner brothers. No, wait. That's weird. He loves spilling it with the help of a knife—his baby. And I have my lions. And Shepp? Well, he has a watchful eye and silent communication. He can gut a guy in five seconds flat, leaving them dead for even flinching in Jericho's direction. He's our silent, giant intimidator. Only, he's really not into this whole mafia thing. He'd rather be in the kitchen cooking up a storm for our lady and making sure she eats.
Damn. Now, I'm hungry.
"How about I gut you here first?" Jericho asks, sinking the tip of his knife straight into the meatiest part of Kent's gut and slowly dragging it up, right through the scar over his chest. You'd think it'd kill him right away. But no. Jer knows exactly what he's doing when he handles a knife. “Once your guts literally spill onto the ground, I’ll keep your heart beating with adrenaline until the pain eats away at you, and you tell me everything I want to know.”
Kent's eyes widen a smidge, and his breaths turn into quick pants as Jericho works his knife through the thick scar on his chest. The symbol of his loyalty to the family is now blemished.
"It's a shame I have to reopen this," Jer says, digging the knife in a little further. "But it's more a shame you thought you could dirty up this city even more with your new drugs. Tell me, was it just him? Was he the head of it?"
All the color drains from Kent’s face when Jericho starts a new line of cuts directly opposite the thick scar, making a cross right over it.
"Criss cross applesauce," I singsong, continuing to pet Max as he watches intently at the blood dripping out of Kent's cut-open chest.
"Jesus," Kent wheezes, fighting against his restraints.
