I look over at Aziah. “I think we should cut it off,” I state evenly.
With a clipped nod, he takes a few steps until he’s beside me. Grabbing the knife, he starts cutting away Mr. Masters’s pants. His father begins bucking in his chair, further embedding the wire into his skin. Grunts come from deep in his throat as he continues to freak out. I want to laugh in his face.
Once his pants are cut away enough for his limp penis to be exposed, Aziah takes the knife and buries it into his father’s thigh.
“Sit fuckin’ still or I’ll force feed you your dick once Rella cuts it off,” he growls in his face. He flicks his eyes up to Trouble, and a moment later, the wire around his neck tightens. More blood seeps down his neck and onto his chest. I’m surprised he hasn’t hit the carotid artery yet.
He stops moving when he realizes his neck will be severed if he doesn’t. Aziah yanks the knife out of his thigh and stands back up. When he grabs the rubber gloves from my hands, I hold on to them.
“No. I want to do it,” I state quietly.
“Rella,” Trouble warns, and I shoot him a look.
“That… thing is the root of both my and Aziah’s pain. I want to hear his screams behind the tape, knowing I was the one who removed it from his body.”
His jaw clenches and his eyes move back and forth between mine. After a moment, he gives me a clipped nod. I glance at Aziah. It almost looks like there’s pride in his gaze.
I slip the gloves on and hold out my hand for the knife. There’s a light twinkling in his eyes as he puts the knife, handle first, in my palm.
I feel a calmness sliding over me as I turn back to Mr. Masters. Never in a million years would I have thought I would be looking forward to cutting off a man’s penis.
I look into the eyes of the man who used to terrify me and has traumatized me and Aziah for life. We’ll never have normal lives because of him. He stripped us of so many things.
His wide, frightened eyes watch me just as closely. Except where mine show utter loathing, he ac
tually has the nerve to use his to plead with me. As if I could ever feel anything other than hatred for the man.
I drop my eyes from him, and they land on the repugnant piece of flesh between his legs. Vomit rolls in my stomach when I grab the head with my thumb and pointer finger and pull it away from his body. Blood from his neck has dripped onto the base. I grip the knife tighter and bring the edge of the blade to just above his pubic hair.
Mr. Masters begins shaking, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. I gladly ignore the pathetic whimpers coming from him, doing the same as he did when he was hurting Aziah and me.
My hands tremble as I press the knife harder against his flesh. I’m forced to grab the head with my fist and pull it further away from his body to make it more taut. I saw the knife back and forth, and blood begins to seep from the cut.
His muffled bellows fill my ears. In any other circumstance, the agonizing sounds would scream to my heart and beg me to help the person in such pain. These don’t elicit any emotion in me. No remorse, no heartache, no compassion, no pity. Nothing.
I’m sure I probably look crazed as my eyes stay glued on my task. But I know there’s no judgement in this room. We’ve all been through hell and back.
Blood and gore are all over both of my hands and halfway up my arms by the time Mr. Masters’s penis comes loose from his body. Blood gushes from between his legs and runs off the chair. I glance up when I realize his cries have silenced. His eyes are closed. I don’t know when it happened, but he must have passed out. His chest moves, so I know he’s still alive.
I start to shake, and a cold-sweat breaks out on my forehead. My chest heaves, but no matter how much air I pull in, it’s not enough. I blink several times to clear my cloudy vision, but it doesn’t work. Black spots start to dance before my eyes. A clatter sounds somewhere, and my knees become weak.
Just before they give out and my vision turns black, I look up at Aziah. His eyes grow wide, and he mutters “Fuck” before he’s darting my way.
EMO
I WATCH RELLA AS SHE stands there holding the stump of my father’s dick in one bloody hand and the knife in the other. I don’t know if she’s in shock or she’s revolted by her actions, but her face is pale, her eyes wide and vacant, and she’s breathing heavily.
The knife clatters to the floor, followed by her letting go of Deacon’s phallus. Seconds later, she looks up at me, and my heart fucking jumps in my chest when I realize she’s going to pass out.
“Fuck,” I hiss and dive for her, my arms sliding around her before she crashes to the dirty floor.
My knees hit the floor and I cradle her to my chest. Trouble drops to his beside me while Judge and JW hover around. I rip the bloody gloves from her hands.
“I fuckin’ knew I should have restricted her from coming,” Trouble growls.
I ignore him, keeping my eyes locked on Rella. No matter how much Trouble may not like it, Rella is a grown woman who can make her own choices. She chose to be here.
Her brows pucker, and she lets out a low moan. The sound punches me in the gut.