"What should we do with him?" Woody asked.
The senator struggled against the handcuffs, but they were secured to the headboard, no doubt intended for someone other than him. How ironic.
How deserved.
"I don't know," I said. "I'm guessing his hand is hurting a little bit."
I liked that for him. I liked it for me even more.
"Wouldn't want him to suffer," Woody said. He grabbed the senator's wrist again and brought the knife down to his skin, slicing until he severed the hand completely.
The senator screamed in agony.
"Much better," I said. I had a feeling that hurt a whole lot more.
The cuffs slipped out from the headboard, letting the senator scurry off to the side of the bed and roll off onto the floor. He landed with a heavy thud before scrambling to his feet, his hand over his bloody stump. The tie had worked loose and fell out of his mouth.
"You're out of your fucking minds," he snarled. He glanced behind us, clearly hoping one of his thugs was coming to his rescue.
"No one's coming," Woody said. "Cuthbert and the rest are dead."
The senator stared. He didn't quite believe it, but panic seemed to be settling in. "You'll never get away with this."
"I disagree," Woody said. "We are very much going to get away with this." He stalked around the bed, knife in his hand.
I followed, both of us driving the man back toward the corner of the room.
"Just out of curiosity," I said, "how long do you think it takes to bleed out from a stump?"
"Too long," Woody said. "I'll get bored long before that happens."
"Fair call.” I nodded.
"What do you want?" the senator asked. "I have money. I can give you as much as you want. Walk away right now and I won't say anything." Tears poured from his eyes.
"Do you believe him?" I asked Woody.
"Not for a second," Woody replied.
"Huh, me either," I said. I gave the senator one of my nastiest smiles. "Walking away doesn't work for us. Sorry, not sorry."
I was going to be sick later, but for now the adrenaline was coursing through my veins, making my heart race. Making me want to do things I otherwise wouldn't. Revenge, not just for myself, but for anyone else he ever lay a finger on. Revenge for Savannah. Where was she? Was she safe? As soon as he was dead, I'd find out.
The senator tried to back up farther, but the wall was right behind him.
"I'll give you anything you want," he whispered, becoming more and more desperate.
"There's only one thing we want," I said.
Woody pulled the gun out of his pocket and shot the senator in one of his knees, then the other.
He screamed so loud I winced, before he toppled to the floor, his legs a bloody mess.
"Was that what you wanted?" Woody asked me.
"It's a start," I agreed.
He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much. I wasn't sure what to think about that. I decided I'd think about it later.