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He screamed and clutched his thigh in his hands.
I had experience at making gunshot wounds, but I has no experience regarding treating gunshot wounds. I had no idea if he would bleed to death or not. I’d read enough articles over the years about random shootings to know that gunshot victims often lived for hours before reaching a hospital.
To be honest, I prefer that he live, especially in the state I was going to leave him.
When he and his three club brothers showed up at the hospital with the same exact wounds, police would assume – rightfully so – that revenge had been sought out for a crime committed against another club.
But the Savages wouldn’t say a word about who did it. A combination of embarrassment and a hatred for law enforcement would prevent them from it.
The one and only constant shared between the lawless and the outlaw was that snitching to the police didn’t happen.
Resolution was obtained from within the ranks. It was a matter of honor.
I pushed the pistol into my front pocket, unbuckled his belt, and pulled up on the buckle end. After lifting him off of the floor by the belt, the wide leather slipped through his belt loops one by one, until it was finally free.
“I guess I’ll wrap this fucker around the first one I shot.”
“Just call me an ambulance, brother. I won’t say a word.”
“Brother? We’re brothers now? You dumb fuck. You don’t have a clue, you know it? I’m just gettin’ started.”
While he moaned and bitched, I wrapped the belt around his left thigh and pulled it tight. I then reached for the button of his jeans.
Whip wasn’t as big as me, but he was a big man. As soon as I attempted to unbutton his pants, he knew what was next, and the struggle began. A few seconds into it, and I stood and pulled the pistol from my pocket.
I pointed it at his head.
“Tell you the truth, I don’t care. We decided not to kill you pricks in a vote, but I’ll let you pick. Either lay still or I’ll put one in your head.”
“Fuck you.”
If it worked on your brother, it ought to work on you.
I kicked him in the side of the head as hard as I could.
Now on the floor unconscious, he provided no resistance. After putting the pistol in my pocket, I bent down, unfastened his pants, and pulled them to his thighs.
I reached in my back pocket, pulled out the straight razor, and grabbed his nuts with my gloved hand. I had visions of talking mad shit to him while I did the deed, but with him unconscious, it made the experience much less enjoyable.
I pulled down on his scrotum, stretched it tight, and swung the straight razor directly under the base of his cock. The entire wad of flesh came off in my hand, nuts and all.
“Holy fucking shit, that’s nasty.”
He began to stir around. Instead of listening to him, I kicked him in the head again.
Now, the really gross part.
It’s a good thing I’m wearing rubber gloves.
I gripped the tip of his cock between my left thumb and forefinger, pulled up on it as hard as I could, and stretched it to its limit. As he began to writhe around, I swung the razor into the flesh and cut it almost all the way through.
“This motherfucker’s dull as fuck,” I said. “Makes sense, I’ve been through three cocks tonight. Four, now.”
About the time he opened his eyes, I swung the razor into the little flap of flesh that still remained. His entire cock came off in my hand.
“Holy shit. That’s a lot of blood.”
He screamed out in pain and shoved his hands between his legs, no doubt in shock from what had happened.
