“That whore” —he spits the word— “tried to save you. Remember that when you’re in your coffin.” Diesel slices his neck from left to right, and it splits open like a gaping, bloody smile. Effortlessly, D tosses him to the floor to choke on his own blood, which is pouring from his wound. Stepping over his body, Diesel prowls towards me, not stopping until he’s pressed to my front, and he hands me the knife like a present. “Want me to cut off his balls for you, Little Bird?”
