Rafe doesn’t even seem to feel it. He’s already pulling his own knife from his belt. He swings it upward, faster than a whip, slashing directly across my father’s throat. My father gasps. Before he can move, before he can even begin to bleed, Rafe slashes him again and again and again, cutting him across the belly, through the groin, and backward across his neck, cutting him to pieces like a carcass in a butcher shop.
