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“I underestimated you Kimuras,” Tomasso says. “I won’t do so again.”
“Yeah, crossing us comes at a heavy cost.”
Tomasso nods at a man beside me who rears his arm back and punches me in the stomach. I cough at the instant pain radiating through my abs. My current position doesn’t allow me to gird myself for the incoming hits and minimize the impact.
“If you’d handed that woman over the first time I asked, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Thatwomanis our wife.” Takeshi glares at Tomasso, a challenge in his gaze that defies his bondage.
“Wife? She’s a whore who fucks for a living. Then again, degenerates like you would desecrate the sanctity of marriage.”
I contort my body, building up leverage to kick out at the man closest to me. He responds with a swift jab to my jaw. While he metes out punishment on me, Takeshi, in an unexpected burst of action, swings and catches my assailant’s neck between his legs and twists until the man’s neck snaps. My husband releases him, leaving him to drop to the ground with his head at an odd angle.
“Don’t fucking touch my husband.”
Tomasso lurches from his chair. “Know your fucking place.” He points to two men. “Restrain them. And someone get me some clippers.”
His men wind a rope around our legs and loop it with the restraints around our heads, arching our bodies until our feet reach behind our ears. My thighs burn from the stretch, but I won’t give Tomasso the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
By the time Tomasso’s men finish trussing us, another person arrives with the requested clippers.
“It’s almost heartwarming how you stick up for each other.” Tomasso walks behind me and a buzzing sound begins. “Tell me, does that bitch like your hair?” He slides the clippers along my scalp.
Lakeisha loves playing in my hair, sometimes using my locks when she’s most agitated, almost like a second security blanket. And she’s not alone. When Takeshi is at his most domineering, he directs our play by grabbing fistfuls of my hair. And now this bastard has taken something precious from me.
“Stop!” Takeshi yells, his body futilely swinging and unable to enact the violence shooting from his eyes.
“Who’s going to make me?” Tomasso laughs. “Do you get it yet? You have no say. Just like you won’t have a say when my nephew gets his hands on the whore who disfigured him.”
The buzzing sound continues, sometimes with the blade digging into my scalp. Although I can’t see myself, Takeshi’s rage and hurt tell me the damage is extensive.
“Now, let’s proceed. Gentlemen.” Tomasso pats the shoulder of two men. “Teach them a lesson. Try to steer clear of the face. We have tons of time to break every bone in their body before we deliver them to that cazzo Katsuo.” He resumes his seat and leans back as if he’s about to catch some sun rays.
His men pound on me and my husband. Pain explodes along my ribs, legs, spine… gut. Even my face. Blood fills my mouth and smears across my cheeks. With our bodies swinging, Tomasso’s men land punches wherever our bodies connect. The hits are brutal, and we’ll need time to fully recover.
“While you learn your place, I’ll let you in on what’s in store for that bitch when we catch her. Since she loves dick so much, we’re going to make sure she gets more than she can handle. And when she’s bleeding and torn apart in all her orifices, we’ll puther out of her misery. Because we’re merciful and only want her to experience a portion of Paul’s agony over the years.”
“The fuck you are.” I double my efforts, straining my arms until a loud pop precedes excruciating pain. I grit my teeth and bite back a scream.
The door slams open and a familiar voice says, “Zio Tomasso, stop.”
Under the barrage of punches, I catch glimpses of Paul whispering in his uncle’s ear. They switch to Italian. By Tomasso’s murderous expression, he doesn’t like whatever Paul is telling him. He shoots out of his chair and stomps away while yelling something over his shoulder.
The men pummeling us into near-unconsciousness draw their last punches and release us. My limbs shriek as I draw them closer to my body. They drag me and Takeshi to a back room and throw us on a lone mattress.
I hug my dislocated arm. “Can you move?” I ask, breathing through the pain.
Takeshi rolls to his side, then his knees. “Shit, let me help.” He grips my arm and shoulder. “This is going to hurt.”
“No more than what I’m already suff?—”
Without warning, he pops my shoulder back in.
“Ahh! Fuck!”
“We have to get out of here.” He drops back onto the mattress, his breathing heavy.
The only sign of his level of pain is his constantly bristling mustache.
