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Buku The Last Savage by Sam Jones

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The Last Savage by Sam Jones

Author:Sam Jones [Jones, Sam]

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: 9781795063555

Publisher: Sam Jones

Published: 2019-03-12T22:00:00+00:00

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The Last Savage by Sam Jones

And then he woke up.

Time had passed. Billy wasn’t sure how much. By the time he came back to, the song was more than half over, so he figured he’d been out maybe a little less than a minute.

Billy Idol’s poppy nonsense was back at full blast.

 

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The Last Savage by Sam Jones

Author:Sam Jones [Jones, Sam] , Date: June 11, 2019

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Author:Sam Jones [Jones, Sam]

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: 9781795063555

Publisher: Sam Jones

Published: 2019-03-12T22:00:00+00:00
And then he woke up.

Time had passed. Billy wasn’t sure how much. By the time he came back to, the song was more than half over, so he figured he’d been out maybe a little less than a minute.

Billy Idol’s poppy nonsense was back at full blast.

Lowe was now fully visible and having shit-canned the dancing.

Mr. Thompson was now facing Billy, his scalpel now coated with crimson.

Billy, still feeling the sting from his unseen wound and unable to move, shut and squinted his eyelids and ground his molars as a way to deal with the pain, his arm still fruitlessly trying to shake and break the arm of the chair. Cracked or not, he was starting to realize the thing wasn’t going to budge or give way any more than it already had.

It’s not happening.

Kudos to the craftsman who made it, though.

Mr. Thompson said, “There is a significant portion of skin missing from part of your back. About the size of a quarter.”

Wonderful.

“For every question you don’t answer,” Mr. Thompson continued, “I will remove another piece. Then I’ll feed it to you. If you don’t eat it—I’ll force you to eat it. I will start to work my way around your body until I get to your genitalia. Then I will make you eat that, too.”

Christ.

It really is the simplest of methods that work.

Lowe moved behind Billy’s back to get a look at the wound. “I can see tendons,” he said. Amused.

Mr. Thompson said, “I’m going to ask my first question. And you have five seconds to answer. Do you understand?”

Billy started laughing.

He didn’t know what else to do.

I’m screwed either way.

“Do you have something to say, William?” Mr. Thompson asked.

“Just one thing, fuck face,” Billy said.

Mr. Thompson waited for it.

“I want to know,” Billy said through labored breathing, “how strong a sunscreen you have to use when you go to the beach, you pasty, translucent shitmagnet.”

Mr. Thompson gripped the scalpel and stepped forward; ready to cut another piece of flesh from Billy Reese.

Mr. Lowe began dancing again in place to Billy Idol’s crooning, taking pleasure in the whole thing just to appease his own devious appetites.

“I’m going to cut another piece off of you,” Mr. Thompson said as he moved in and prepared to make contact with the scalpel against Billy’s flesh—more specifically his nose.

“Let’s start here,” he said as he moved behind Billy and quickly coiled his arm around Billy’s neck and put it into a headlock, Billy trying to squirm out of Mr. Thompson’s grip as he clenched his teeth and spat obscenities.

“Brace yourself,” Lowe said as he danced in the corner, his feet twisting and kicking in sync with Billy Idol in a tribal-like and oddly childish manner.

Mr. Thompson held the scalpel upright and used his free hand to apply pressure to the left side of Billy’s nose, positioning and readying it for carving.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

He applied pressure.

The blade touched skin.

A trickle of blood began to flow.

And then four gunshots rang out from the hallway—BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Everyone froze.

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