“Okay, now what do—”
The hunting knife was at Felix’s throat so fast he felt it before he saw it, the blade pressing against his Adam’s apple, forcing him against the headrest.
“Here’s what we gonna do, Mr. Type A. You gonna climb out, slow and easy, and then we takin’ a little walk in the woods. Your blood ain’t no good, so I won’t have no problem spillin’ it.”
The knife was incredibly sharp. Felix could feel the sting when it lightly broke his skin. Like a long paper-cut. John’s other massive hand was tangled in Felix’s hair, cupping his head like a basketball.
Fear smothered Felix like a wet blanket.
When Felix was able to speak, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “My money is in my wallet. In my back pocket.”
“This ain’t about money, shit-brain. This is about poking your nose in what’s none of your goddamn business. Now get out of the truck.”
The knife sawed forward, giving Felix another, deeper cut. He thought about his Beretta, just under his seat. It might as well have been a hundred miles away. There was no way for him to reach it without his throat being slit.
Every system in Felix’s body went haywire. He got very hot, which was incongruous with his shivering. His bladder seemed to get smaller, tighter. His stomach churned, and his bowels were ready to burst. His breath came out in quick pants, making him even more light-headed.
He felt around for the door handle, thinking that maybe he’d have a chance to run when he stepped out of the truck, depending on how tight a grip John kept on him.
John kept his grip tight as a vice. He pulled on Felix’s head, keeping it at waist-level, as he followed Felix out the door.
“Let’s mosey on into the middle of the road. Won’t no one mind a big pool of blood there. It’ll look like a deer got hisself hit.”
John tugged him away from the car. Felix’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and at the same time he was finding it difficult to walk. Mixed in with the terror was a sense of detachment. Like it was happening to someone else.
He’d never thought much about death before, and certainly never thought this was how his life would end. He wondered if he should be concentrating on something important. Or praying. Or looking back over his life and trying, in his very last seconds, to make sense of it all.
But all he could focus on was the knife.
“Unlike some of my kin, I don’t take no pleasure in killin’. Momma says it’s on account I’m too soft. But I done some bad things. And right now, I reckon I’m gonna do some of those bad things to you.”
Felix heard someone say, “Please, don’t,” and realized it was coming from him.
“I gotta. Maybe Momma won’t think I’m no softy no more if’n I bring her your head. But heads don’t come off easy. Takes lots of cuttin’ and hackin’. I ‘spect you’ll feel most of it.”
“Please...”
“On your knees, boy.”
Felix was forced down in the headlight beams. He stared at John’s waist, smelled his body odor, and realized these were the last sensations he’d ever experience.
Except for pain.
Felix felt like sobbing. He didn’t want his last thought to be about the pain to come. He wanted it to be about something more important. He wanted it to be about Maria.
He pictured her face. Her eyes. Her smile.
He wanted so badly to see her, one last time.
“What happened to her?” Felix croaked.
“Them questions is what got you into trouble, boy. You still asking ‘em?”
“I have to know.” Felix swallowed. “Please.”
John snorted and spat. “We bled her. Same as the others. Nice and slow. Not fast, like you’re gonna be. Just try not to splash any on my new truck.”
Rage overtook Felix, burning away the blanket of fear, filling his veins with electricity.
“If’n you take a deep breath, maybe you’ll be able to look ‘round for a bit after I get your head off.”
Felix lashed out with his fist, connecting with John’s crotch, feeling his hand sink in while simultaneously trying to twist away from the knife.
John grunted, jerking to the side, dragging the tip of the blade across Felix’s chin and cutting to the bone. Felix flinched away, but John’s hand was too big, his hold too tight. He cut again, the jagged back of the hunting knife catching Felix across his scalp. Felix reached out with both hands, his fingers wrapping around the cruel, sharp steel.
John bent down and pulled. Felix felt it cut into his fingers, but he refused to let go. He swung his head upward, fast. His scalp rammed into John’s chin, snapping the larger man’s head backward.
John jerked up to his full height, did a half-turn, then fell like a redwood, banging his forehead into the asphalt when he hit the road, his knife clattering beside him.
The pain hit Felix all at once. His neck. His head. His fingers.
He held them up but couldn’t see much in the dark except for blood. Then he reverted back to self- preservation and scurried over to the knife. He was able to pick it up, albeit painfully, and then slowly approached John.
The giant’s eyes were closed. Felix heard a low, rumbling sound, and he realized John was snoring.
Felix placed a foot on the hunter’s shoulder, shoved him from his side onto his back. In the high beams, he could make out the growing knot on John’s forehead.
Felix could also make out the injuries to his hands. It looked like he’d stuck them in a blender.
Seeing the cuts made them hurt even more. Felix hurried to the car, threw the knife in the back seat, tucked the 9mm into his waistband, and then dug the first aid kit out of the rear compartment where he kept his car jack and toolbox. He slathered his hands with a full tube of Neosporin, then began to wind them with gauze. Halfway into wrapping his right hand he had to stop and redo it, leaving his index finger free so he could still shoot the gun if needed.
Then Felix yanked out his toolbox, searching through it until he found the handcuffs. An impulse purchase he’d made at the same time he’d bought the gun, on the off-chance he might run into whoever had done Maria harm.
He stuck the keys in his front pocket and rolled the big man onto his belly—a difficult task with someone so heavy. The cuffs just barely fit around his thick wrists. Then Felix managed, with even more difficulty, to pull his cell phone out of his pocket.
