Boiling broth drenched my scalp with a sickening hiss. It felt like my skin was shriveling under the heat. Before I could even process the pain, Tommy yanked my hair and smashed my head into the table. BANG. BANG. BANG. My face slammed against the wood again and again, blood spilling from my nose and mouth, the taste of metal and bile flooding my throat.
Tommy laughed maniacally. “Hahaha! Look at this bastard scream. Bet you moan just like this when you’re serving that old hag too.”
His rage only grew. He barked orders to his cronies, who pinned me down hard. “You want to steal food? Fine. Then I’ll break your hands.”
I screamed in horror, “Tommy, don’t you dare!”
But it was too late. He raised the heavy soup pot and brought it crashing down on my hands. Pain shot through all ten fingers like bolts of lightning. I could only watch, helpless, as my fingers twisted and bent at grotesque angles. And then—like a flash of fury—Oliver leapt into the air.
Fur puffed, claws out, my cat launched itself at Tommy’s face and slashed at him.
“Agh! You little beast!” Tommy roared and kicked Oliver hard, sending the cat flying across the room.