39. Cash
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Cash
As soon as she’s out the door, I haul Jeb up and drag him into the kitchen. “What were you doing in here, huh? What were you looking for?”
He’s crying.
He doesn’t even try to talk back to me. He had Haven in this exact same situation and she kept responding, kept dragging him into a conversation.
She’s a hundred times braver than this wimp.
I slam him into the counter face first and hold him there, pressing down between his shoulders, as I yank open the first drawer beside him. Just some wooden spoons. Slam.
He sobs.
I shove him along the counter. The next drawer has cling wrap. I yank that out and slap it on the counter in front of his face. “This would suffocate a man nicely, wouldn’t it? Is that how you want to die?”
The stench of frightened piss is his only answer.
“Were you looking for a sharp knife? You wanted to carve her up, but you needed a big knife to do it, because that little steak knife would be too hard for you? Why aren’t there more murder knives here, huh?
” I grab him by the scruff of his neck and haul him upright again, throwing him onto the other side of the sink.
“Or maybe you couldn’t do it. You made a trap for yourself, and then you couldn’t go through with it.
Is that it? That’s weak, man. I promise you, I don’t have that hesitation in me. ”
The next drawer I try is where he got the steak knife. It’s got a lot of cutlery in it. I slam it shut again just for fun.
Then I curve over him. “I don’t need a knife to kill you, Jeb Martin. I won’t use cling wrap to steal your last breath. I have hands for a fucking reason.”