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“Well, Whip. You won’t be raping any more girls with this, because I’m gonna take it with me.”
I reached into my kutte, pulled out the Zip-Lock bag, and unzipped it. After dropping his cock and scrotum into the bag, I squeezed the air out, zipped it closed, and folded it up.
Whip would spend the rest of his life – if he lived through the gunshot wounds and the castration – without having sex again.
Not a day would pass that he wouldn’t regret what he did to Peyton.
A life of pain, agony, humiliation, and regret.
But it would never be enough.
* * *
Crip’s door opened a few inches. Standing in nothing but his boxers, he looked at me through the crack with sleepy eyes.
“What’s shakin’ motherfucker?”
“Jesus H. Christ, Peeb. Any reason you gave an order that no one could tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on?”
I shrugged. “Wanted to show you myself, so I told the fellas to keep it quiet. You gonna let me in?
“It’s five o’clock in the morning, be fuckin’ quiet,” he whispered. “She’s still sleeping.”
“She’s here?”
“Yeah, she’s here,” he said. “Now shut the fuck up and come in.”
“Nice seeing you, too.”
I walked past him and toward his kitchen. I needed a beer, and I needed one bad. As soon as I stepped into the dining room, I grinned.
On the center of the table, a glass sat. Filled with what looked like pink water, it was a reminder of what a good solid bitch Peyton Price was.
I motioned toward the glass. “She make that for me?”
He nodded. “We went to the hospital and got her checked out. They did some tests for diseases and some other shit. She claimed she got drunk and agreed to let a bunch of guys fuck her. Doctors didn’t believe her at first, but she convinced ‘em in no time. Tell you what, that’s one strong fuckin’ woman. Anyway, when we got back, she made that for you. Been sittin’ there since about 10:00. She fell asleep at 2:00. She’s been worried about ya. She’s not the only one.”
I wagged my eyebrows at him. “Alive and well, motherfucker.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m getting’ to it.” I pulled off my backpack, unzipped it, and removed the four Zip-Lock bags.
He glanced at the bags. His face distorted, and then he looked at me. “What the fuck is that?”
I tossed the bags on the table. “Cocks. Four of ‘em.”
“You cut off their fuckin’ dicks?”
“Sliced off their cocks and their balls. All four of ‘em,” I said. “Well, four cocks, and eight nuts. Cut the fuckers off right at the base, too. Didn’t even leave ‘em a stub. Was Cholo’s idea. Said that’s how they do it in Mexico. Figured if it was good enough for the cartel, it was good enough for me.”
I picked up the glass of pink liquid and downed it in one drink. “You have one of these yet?”
“Seriously?” he snapped back.
His mouth curled into a smirk.
“You did, didn’t ya?”
