Sasquatch #3
“The brothers on her place will hang back and handle the janitorial work.”
Squatch was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a need, he planned to burn the trailer of terror to the fucking ground with the bitch inside… after she begged a little.
With that, he fired up his bike and rode toward the two overgrown acres Devin’s childhood trailer sat on.
He dismounted his bike by the brothers waiting by the dirt road that led onto the property. The trailer sat back in the middle of the overgrowth on an oversized concrete pad. Out in the middle of nowhere… perfect.
“You guys can take off as soon as you see the first whiff of smoke. There’ll be nothing left.”
With that, he stalked toward the run-down single wide.
He tried the knob before kicking in the door and lo and behold, it opened.
The smell hit him the second it opened. His eyes damn near watered and he was in danger of gagging. Which was saying something, he had an iron stomach.
Squatch shook it off and got into the zone, taking in the interior. No wonder it smelled like death, there were dirty dishes and rotting food on every surface. More garbage than floor, and the flies circling around the overflowing can in the kitchen, could be heard.
Then his eyes landed on Jana. Sitting on the couch with a bottle in her hand.
“Jana Farrell, just who I wanted to see.” He spoke with sarcasm, but when her bloodshot eyes lifted to his, it didn’t register.
Her head swayed as she took in his cut and a greedy smile curled her lips.
“Did Lucas send you with money?” She stuck out her hand with a gimme motion.
She abandoned the bottle, letting it lean against her hip, but her motion shifted it, causing the half-full bottle to tip, soaking the fabric cushion.
That was when he noticed her state of dress or rather undress. She wore only a tank top and underwear.
His eyes zeroed in on her thighs, her pristine thighs, and an unprecedented anger gripped him.
She caught him staring. “I’ll let you have a ride for five hundred.”
Her words sent him into a fucking rage. He lunged and caught her by the neck and spat in her face.
“Five hundred? FIVE HUNDRED? What makes you think you’re worth a fucking dime when you sold your own daughter for fifty!
” His voice had risen so loud he wondered if the brothers could hear him way back by the gate.
Her eyes widened at his words; she’d sobered up quickly. “Oh yeah, I know,” he said. “I know all your sins, and it’s time for you to atone.”
He spoke in a calm, controlled voice. “And I’ll make sure Lucas knows too.”
That was her biggest fear, losing her meal ticket. It wouldn’t matter much in about ten minutes, but she didn’t know that yet. She’d signed her death warrant when he saw Devin’s beautiful body in the mirror and the scars she’d tried to hide.
Jana was shaking her head, but Squatch left her no room to move. “Maybe I can be convinced not to tell him if you tell me something… how did Devin end up with Thom and Ida?” He already knew but he wanted her to say it.
He loosened his grip just enough so she could speak. “I owed Ida, and she sent Thom to collect or kill me, so I made a deal with Thom. He’d bring that useless bitch to Ida and we’d call it even.”
That was it, Squatch didn’t need more and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to let that witch insult his ol’ lady another second.
He shoved her over on the couch cushion, the earlier spilled whiskey soaking into her hair. His grip on her throat tightened, her face filling with color and panic.
Squatch had taken enough lives to know the look, the one of absolute recognition. The realization that they would die at his hands. He stared at Jana until he saw that flicker in her eyes, and smiled.
“Do you know how many cuts Devin has on her thighs because of you? Of course you don’t, but I do. Fifty-seven, I counted every single one. I kissed every single one.”
Jana was on the verge of passing out when he grabbed a knitting needle from a basket beside the couch and started counting as he stabbed into her thighs.
She’d passed out somewhere in the thirties and he’d let go of her throat. It was a hell of a lot harder to stab someone with a blunt object than a knife, but he felt it was justified. She didn’t deserve the quick pain of a sharp blade.
After fifty-seven he tossed the knitting needle to the dirty carpet. Reaching into the inside pocket of his cut, he pulled out his lighter and flipped the top.
“Burn in hell, bitch.” He struck the flint and held it to the part of the couch she’d spilled the whiskey on and it caught immediately, along with her hair.
She didn’t stay passed out for long. She was screaming and burning but couldn’t muscle up from the couch.
He was at peace with what he’d done so he strode out the door and walked down the overgrown drive toward his bike. His brothers watched behind him as the flames claimed the trailer and her body.
His brothers pulled away when they saw he was good. Squatch didn’t once turn back to see his handiwork, he was looking forward.