Page 102 of Tormented

“Sure.”

He gestures to his chest, holding his bloody hands out in front of him the same as I remember Mom doing when she would get dough all over her hands, baking.

“Abbey, honey, can you sprinkle some more flour here?”

Momma’s eyes are always so bright. I think she catches rays of sunshine and hides them in there.

“Sure, Momma.”

“Got to get this just right so we can use the cutter, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s enough.” Her hands roll and knead the creamy dough, a smile on her face when she catches me watching, chin rested in my hands. “You think he’ll like them?”

“Sure. Everyone loves cookies, Momma.”

He didn’t like them. Evan didn’t like much, as it turned out. Discovered that the long, slow, painful way over the years.

“Abbey.”

I snap back to the writhing victim on the floor, and the man I’m confused over my feelings for standing above said victim with his hands coated in red.

“Sorry. On to it.”

He leans his right shoulder back to give me easier access to the pocket inside his cut that houses his phone. My fingers brush against his chest, and I hesitate, feeling the incessant beat of his heart.

“What can I say?” He smirks. “Two of my favorite things in the same room. A guy could get a little excited by it all.”

I hold his gaze, captivated by the way his eyes can be as black as the pits of hell, yet his words are so softly spoken that I’d trust anything he said in this moment. “Got it.” I pull the phone out and back away, glancing down at the floor when I realize Cash has gone quiet.

“Shit.” Sawyer toes his leg. “Better wake him up; I’m not done yet.”

Settling on the arm of a sofa, I thumb through the phone until I come across the message thread with Tuck. “What do you want me to say?”

Sawyer frowns at Cash, bent double over the guy so his nose is mere inches from the plastic. “He’s still breathin’.” He steps back and taps the dirty blade on his chin in thought. “Send him a message that says ‘Field needs tilling.’”

Mm-kay. “That all?”

The knife makes a squelchy sound as it dives into the meaty part of Cash’s leg.

Our victim jackknifes back to consciousness with a garbled yelp.

“Yeah. He knows what it means.”

I fire off the message and set the phone down in my lap while Sawyer gets to work replicating what Cash did to the girls, to him.

As it turns out, severing limbs takes a while without the right tools.

Guess it’ll be a long night then.