Chapter 23 #2
“Jim doesn’t only have a vested interest in saving animals,” King says as Maverick keeps us in step. “We’re preparing a meal for a small cannibalistic tribe Jim took in. Their section of rainforest was being shorn to shit, and he thought the Louisiana reserve most closely mimicked their homeland.”
“Makes sense,” Frankie says. “People don’t come out here, as it’s closed to the public, so the animals and the cannibals can live in peace.”
We arrive at the pot and maneuver up the wooden stairs so the men can drop their burdens into the broth.
Everything lands with a splash, and I can’t wait to lick King clean later, risk of foodborne illness be damned.
When you’ve lived with fucked-up guts for as long as I have, the threat of diarrhea doesn’t really faze you anymore.
I glance down the lanes as we reach the bottom of the stairs again. I’m shocked to see we’ve pulled ahead of everyone but Aven, Quinn, Cat, and Bennett. They’ve been coordinated as a group, but I wonder what will happen when they have to use a little more cooperation at the killing table.
As we draw nearer to our table, I can already hear Aven and Bennett bickering about which of them gets to use which weapon. We won’t have that problem. King’s always been a leader, and I don’t mind following him.
Sometimes.
A barrel of weapons stands before us, and we all look to King. He doesn’t hesitate as he drags his arms in and out until every pair of hands has a means to cut away the pieces we need.
“We’ll take the head first,” he says. “I’ve chosen this cutting wire, which I’ll need both hands to use. Ladies, I apologize in advance.”
I raise the hacksaw in my free hand. “What about this?”
King points at the Cattle. “After the head is away—”
“Jesus Christ, I can hear everything you’re saying!” the Cattle shouts. “Could you maybe discuss how you plan to dismember me a little more quietly?”
King’s eyebrow rises. “On second thought, we’ll harvest the organ first. We’ll take his wobbly bits so that he can stay alive and feel a bit more pain before we finish him off and remove his head.”
“Oh, fucking fabulous,” the Cattle mutters.
Using a pair of pruning shears, Frankie and Maverick work together and chop off the man’s cock and balls. Blood pours from the pussy flaps they carved into him, and I’m not so sure he’ll be around long enough to enjoy what comes next.
“Josie, we’ll work together on his arm. Just keep a steady rhythm.”
I nod at King.
“Frankie and Maverick, the two of you should work on his right arm, then the leg. That femur might prove to be a right cunt, but if you work together, you can get through it.”
They set to work, and King and I do the same. Both of my hands and one of King’s drag the saw back and forth over the man’s shoulder. King and Frankie also hold their joined hands against the gaping crotch wound to stem the flow of blood. But why is King moving his hand back and forth like that?
“Dude, you trying to get him off or something?” I ask.
King looks down and realizes what his hand was doing. “Blast. I was never any good at patting my stomach and rubbing my head at the same time. This is about the same. My other hand wants to make the sawing motion.”
Maverick and Frankie cheer as their limb comes free, and ours isn’t far behind. My arms are on fire by the time we swap to the leg, but at least I still have arms. Unfortunately, the massive blood loss takes our Cattle out pretty quickly after that.
“King, I don’t know if I can do it,” Frankie says, mirroring my inner thoughts as we stare at those hairy quads. “I was only using one arm, and I’m winded.”
“Agreed,” I say, breathless.
“You girls did a beautiful job. Take a rest and let us handle the legs. Just let your arms go limp, and we’ll bully our way through the work.”
“I feel so useless,” Frankie says, but she relaxes her arms, so I do the same. If that badass can allow herself some room to breathe, I don’t feel guilty for giving myself the same grace.
The men set to work, and it isn’t long before their arms, necks, and foreheads gleam with sweat.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the way King’s jaw jerks with each determined swipe of the metal teeth over skin.
Deep grooves form around the muscles in his arms, and I just want to lick each hill and valley.
When he hits bone, the sinews in his neck stand out, and he breathes through gritted teeth, pumping, pushing, pulling.
I nearly come.
King’s Cattle leg comes off, and Maverick’s falls right after. Both men drag lady arms everywhere as they try to clear the river of sweat from their faces. Frankie and I just let it happen.
“Just the head left now,” King says. “Are both of you ready to help me bring home the win?”
Frankie and I nod, rejuvenated by the brief rest. It would be nice to finally win an event after losing the first two. We help him get the razor wire over the man’s head, and then we get into a rhythm.
“I don’t even need to do anything,” King says with a laugh. “You lot are doing all the work for me.”
Frankie laughs as she looks up at him, and I wonder if this is healing that hurt little girl who didn’t get to do the three-legged race with her father. I hope it is. Murder really has a way of bringing people together.
I glance at the other teams. Everyone is at their Cattle station now, but we’ve worked our way into a solid lead. We gather our ingredients and hurry toward the pot, all of us covered in blood. Slippery blood.
It doesn’t matter who tumbled first. We all go down like red dominos. Instead of being angry, we giggle and scramble to grab the body parts before they roll too far away. Some of the other teams are gaining ground, but we’re laughing too hard to stand upright again.
“Get it together,” Frankie says through happy tears. “I don’t want to lose!”
“Right, right,” King says, then clears his throat. “Up and at them on three. One. Two.”
We grunt in unison as we get to a standing position again. As we hobble toward the pot, I see something break loose in King. The t-shirts and khaki shorts were a good first step, and that scruff is here to stay, but I’ve been waiting for the moment when he finally lets himself smile on the inside.
And I’ve just seen it.
“We’ve got them now!” he bellows, charging forward. “Keep it up, son,” he says to Maverick, who keeps calling out which leg to move. “You girls are brilliant! Keep stepping.”
Maverick keeps up that left-right-left, and Frankie and I keep stepping, both of us raising our knees a little higher under King’s praise.
She feels that fatherly recognition she’s never known, but me?
I hear that same praise when I’m on my knees in front of him, and now that’s all I can think about.
I had planned on getting the girls together after this, but now I think that might have to wait. After all, I haven’t properly thanked King for saving my life yesterday, and I did promise him a blow job if he saved all of us.
We reach the top of the stairs without another mishap, and we heave the body parts into the bubbling mixture. Shouts and cheers burst out of us as we look around and see that we’ve won.
Jim applauds and steps closer to unfasten our arms and legs.
His cockatoo sits on his shoulder, shouting something about a secret uncle, and I can’t help but wonder what sort of shit this poor creature has seen if it has a vocabulary like that.
It bobs its head, happy as a clam with all the shouting and hoopla.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Frankie asks once we’re free.
I look between her and King, then shake my head. “It’s not important. I’ll get with you at the next stop on the Oregon Trail.”
“You sure?” she asks. Maverick hands a rag to her, and she swipes blood from her face.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I say as King does the same for me.
I definitely still need to run my little problem by the girls, but it’s gonna have to wait until after I celebrate this win with King. Seeing him cut loose has cut something loose inside me too, and not even a quadratic equation will stuff this desire back into its cage.
Maybe it’s time I remind King that he’s at risk of falling too, and I know just how to do it.