Blaze steps forward, his hunting knife in one hand and Glock in the other. The knife is already bloodied, I notice. “No, fuck you,” he snarls and stabs Puppet in the gut. The older man hisses in pain but remains standing.
“I should’ve put a bullet in your skull,” Puppet coughs.
In response, Nightmare flicks the blade up swiftly. He slices a gash into one side of Puppet’s mouth. With that move, his eyes widen in shock from the jolt of pain.
Torch yanks his blade free from his holster, approaching Nightmare and the prisoner. He drives the blade into Puppet’s upper thigh. “For Bronx, cunt.”
The man groans, his head swaying side to side and I can’t help but wonder how he’s even still alive. Viking approaches them next, and I swallow roughly. He grabs the man’s shirt collar with both hands and rips it completely open. Blood sops out from the gash Blaze already inflicted.
“For Scot—may our road father rest in peace—and for Princess, my ol’ lady.” He draws a small axe free, and with one harsh swing, hacks into the injury free side. That’s the hit that hurts, as Puppet wails in pain.
Scowling, Nightmare growls, “The fun’s only begun. When I’m finished with you, that hatchet will be child’s play. You kidnapped my son, you beat my ol’ lady, you will suffer.”
With a nod to the brothers still beside me, I make my way outside before I puke my guts up.