Benjamin didn't faint.
To my surprise, he stayed standing, though his hand clutched his chest as if his heart might burst. His face was red with rage and fear.
"You're insane!" he shouted at Lewis. "All Harper did was slap Riley, and you cut off his finger!"
Lewis didn't even look up at first. He calmly wiped the blood from the cleaver with a white towel, slow and precise.
"Benjamin," he said evenly, "you're wrong on two counts."
The room fell silent again.
"First," he continued, "I'm not stopping at one finger. I plan to take all five. One at a time. That way, he has enough time to feel fear before each one."
Harper let out a broken sob.
"Second," Lewis went on, finally lifting his eyes, "he only loses a hand. My mate was slapped in the face."
The words landed heavier than the cleaver had.
For a second, no one understood what he meant.
Were they really hearing this correctly?
Was he saying a slap to my face was worse than losing fingers?
