Chainsaw Cutting Crooked Novels & Stories

I didn't wait. Slid sideways into the gap. Scalpel up under a guard's armpit. Into the nerve plexus. Ripped out. Left hand on his failing wrist. Twisted. The scimitar went loose. Caught it midair. Backhand toward the chains. Three full spins. The blade never struck the chain. The tip wedged into the cotter pin gap. Connecting ring to wall anchor. Momentum and mass pried the pin from its rusted socket.

"Like this." His hands moved efficiently, pressing the cutter through the apple flesh, twisting slightly, then popping out a perfect star. He did two more in quick succession. "Your turn." I took the cutter back, mimicking his movements. My first attempt mangled the apple slice, cutting off one point of the star. "Press straight down," the cook instructed. "Don't twist until it's all the way through." I tried again. Better, but still lopsided. The cook watched me butcher two more slices before shaking his head. "Good enough for today. She'll get the idea."

“Good to hear. We will leave tomorrow morning.” Everyone filed out of the conference room except for Chris. He stayed behind, looking at the swords Jackson had created. Chris had admired the fact that Jackson had crafted everything, including the blade. The blade was only sharp on one side, unlike the rest of the swords in the bunker. Each of the blades had a small notch on the front side of the blade to lock it into place when attached.

' they thought. "You got a problem with that?" Alexander watched their puzzled faces, a slight smile on his lips. He set down his wine glass, stepped forward, and picked up the machete Giano dropped. Gripping the handle in his right hand and pinching the blade with his left thumb and forefinger, he began to apply pressure. Creak, creak! The machete, crafted from a tough alloy, contorted and warped in Alexander's grip. It let out a series of loud, metallic groans until, with a resounding 'bang', it burst into a shower of metal fragments.

A glint of metal caught the light as Spencer produced a sharp blade. “You’re going to regret ever crossing my family,” Spencer vowed, his voice devoid of emotion. With a swift motion, Spencer’s men pinned Chase’s legs to the floor. Chase screamed as Spencer raised the blade, his eyes fixed on the gleaming metal. The blade descended, slicing through fabric and flesh with ease. Chase’s screams turned to agonized wails as his legs were cut off from the knees, blood gushing from the wounds. Spencer stood back, his eyes never leaving Chase’s contorted face.

I'm not sure how much he's already cut, but he chops away as if slicing butter with a hot butter knife. I stand there, looking at him with sadness in my eyes. I have never seen him this angry. He and his uncle are very connected, and I hate seeing them fighting. The wood is scattered all over the place, and it's piling high once I start gathering it and placing it neatly, one on top of the other, until I get a big splinter on my palm.

“We’ve got time.” The material of her panties was in my way, limiting my full access and keeping me from feeling her the way I wanted. I needed more. So I had to improvise. I pulled out my nail cutter, its metallic surface catching a spark on her face as I positioned it carefully between her legs. With precise movements, I slipped the sharp edge under the skirt at the side of her pants, applying just enough pressure to slice through the material. The material resisted for a moment before giving way, the cut widening as I guided the tool upward. Just as I was about to continue, the nail cutter slipped from my grasp, falling to the floor with a soft clatter.

“Tell me more.” “A standard blade is either 1/2 inch or a full inch. You have to special order a 1/4 inch or get it from a certain brand. A 1/4 inch is more the size of a pocket knife or paring knife, none of which would make those marks.” “What does that tell us?” I was quiet for a moment. “Dad has a signature knife used for torture.” Cade nodded. “What else did you notice about the cuts?” “One side was jaggard, like it was a serrated, but not in a normal way. Almost like it is twisted. The other was straight, but at an angle.”

The man shakes his head. “Now tell me, who do you work for?” he looks up at me and his lips tremble. “I… we… the…” He swallows and his behavior makes me angry. He is a grown-ass man but can’t form a full sentence to answer my question. I went to the tool table and place the chainsaw on it then grabbed a knife. I threw it at him, and it embedded itself on his thigh making him scream in pain. “I see you found your voice, good, now tell me, who do you work for?” I ask him.

"Don't drag the teeth. Let the weight of the steel do the cutting." "I am not dragging the teeth, Leo," Gia replied, her tone sharp with exertion as she set her heels into the drift and pulled the handle back toward her chest. "The blade is binding because the trunk is under compression from the stone wall underneath." Leo paused, letting the saw rest in the kerf. He wiped his brow with the back of his glove, his amber eyes scanning the way the massive trunk sagged across the boulder foundation. "If we cut through this section without relief, the log pinches the steel," Leo admitted, leaning his hands on the top of the trunk. "And if it snaps downward, it crushes the remaining masonry."