Page 111 of Insidious Heart
So, I went Van Gogh on his ass, and cut off his left ear andmadehim listen.
It didn’t last long, though.
Beau lost consciousness for damn near twenty-four hours. I even had to patch up the side of his head and have Harlow talk me through a transfusion to keep the asshole alive, which meant I had to impatiently wait for him to wake up again, and when he did he was even more annoying than before.
Until I started his mani-pedi.
Eight out of ten fingernails and all ten toenails are gone, and I made sure to drive safety pins underneath each and wiggle them around before ripping them off as slowly as possible with my trusty needle-nose tool.
And through it all, he hasn’t screamed once.
Watching the bastard president of the Demon Seeds black out and try not to vomit from pain was something, though.
“Now, as I was saying.” I crouch in front of Beau and grin through my face shield. “We are here becauseyou”—I clamp down on the nail of his right ring finger—“don’t know how to treat women.” With far too much enthusiasm, I begin moving it back and forth, lifting a little more each time until the thick, calcium-deficient keratin starts to pop free. “Women in general, but the one I’m most concerned about is your daughter.”
My eyes flick to Beau’s as I yank the nail off, but along with the pain that’s making him wretch, I see a new level of rage spark in those sickly eyes.
And that makes me laugh. “Surprised? Even more pissed? I would be too, I guess, if I found out my daughter was fucking a serial killer right under my nose.”
Through a muffled scream, The Butcher jerks his body, attempting to come at me in all his angry glory, but only rips his entire right arm off the chair, blood spurting behind it from where the thin layer of flesh tore off before the limb just dangles at his side.
“Don’t worry, Beauregard.” I pat his cheek with my free hand as I get to my feet, turning to drop this nail with the others. “I’m takingverygood care of yourlittle girl. Her body sings for me whenever we’re together. We’ve even talked for hours about all the things that make her the fascinating creature she is, and if I’m not mistaken, my sweet little dove genuinely cares for me as well.”
“Oo sa oh a bish!” It’s jumbled and blocked by the ball in his mouth, but the overall message Beau is trying to send is clear.
“My mother was rather awful, I’ll give you that too.” Slowly, and with as much malice as I can convey, I turn to face him once more. “And that’s why I killed the bitch myself. One shot, right between the eyes while she slept.” Motioning to my forehead and pulling an imaginary trigger, I resume position to finish up with his pinky. “It always starts with the parents though, doesn’t it, Beauregard?”Tug, lift, tug, lift.“It did for me, and I’m not just talking about offing the diseased cunt that brought me into the world.”Twist, rip. “I killed my old man, too. Beat him to death with my Louisville Slugger when I was a mere lad of twelve, but let’s focus on my mother for a minute.”
Adding lucky number twenty to the little basin, I retire the pliers and contemplate what to use next. “You see, she was a woman, and since I killed her you could argue the point that I’m being hypocritical, but there is a very serious difference between your sweet, kind, selfless offspring and the horrible hag born of satan’s asshole that claimed to raise me.”
Beau tracks my every move, his head bobbing as he fights blacking out again, his eyes practically crossing from the pain. He watches me while I drag my hand over my tool belt, debating on how I want to finish making my point, and when I suddenly turn and grab the cattle prod from the table, those shit-brown eyeballs nearly bug out of his empty head.
“Stevie is incredible.” I fire it up. “She’s pure.” I zap my rubber and lead-lined glove. “Stevie is everything good and right in this fucked up world and you were trying to take her away from me!”
The sizzle of flesh and muscle when I drive the prod into his chest isn’t nearly as satisfying as the way his entire body seizes, or the way he finally succumbs and starts to vomit.
And because I’m not ready for him to die just yet, especially from choking on his own puke, I roughly remove the gag from Beau’s mouth and jump out of the way as he lets it rip.
“Gross.”
“Ba-bastard,” he grunts through another heave. “Crazy… son of a… bitch.”
I wag my finger back and forth through the air as I tsk. “That isn’t very nice,Beauregard. Repeatedly calling my mother a bitch is one thing, but saying I’m crazy is just plain ignorant. Mycounselorsnever even said I was crazy. A psychopath?” The smelly sack of shit looks up at me, his eyes watering and snot running from his nose. “A sociopath? Sure, both have been used during therapy sessions at various points in my life but I tend to disagree. I may get a little thrill from killing people, might find it exhilarating or even a touch seductive, but I’m neither of those things simply based on the fact that Icananddofeel things whether I understand them or not.”
Beau shakes his head. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“And you’re not listening!” I hit him with the cattle prod again, this time in the thigh, and I grin when it involuntarily spasms so hard it tears from the chair. “I’m a lot of things, morally grey at best being most obvious, but I amnotcrazy.”
“Who… who are you? W-why am I here?”
“My god, you’re even stupider than I thought.” Which was pretty fucking stupid since I’ve listened to hundreds of hours of this moron’s conversations.
Putting my flair for the dramatic to use, I center myself in front of the bastard and give him my best smile as I bow. “I’m The Harvester of Bones, Beau.Keep up.”
He frowns as he looks over my face behind the shield, my body—mynakedbody—and the chest to shin length apron I’m wearing, the gloves on my hands, and tool belt around my waist. Beau’s stare moves back up to my grin for a beat, the dumbass finally putting the pieces together something I can actuallyseehappening, then his eyes dart around the inside of the trailer.
Tarps all over the walls and floor.
Shitty lighting rigged from the ceiling.
