Larissa Judson and Haskell Palmer novel Chapter 556

Thatch’s neck stiffened. “I told you, I didn’t sell your brother! As for why Draven isn’t your real brother, I’ve had time to think, and I’ve figured it out. It must have been Valeria’s mother, Thalia! She did it behind my back! I swear, I knew nothing about it!”

Larissa scoffed. “Right, you knew nothing. You expect us to believe that Thalia could swap her own son with the real Draven without your permission? Do you think we’re idiots?”

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she pinpointed his true motive. “Oh, I see. You’re not trying to fool us. You’re just terrified of dying. You think that as long as you deny everything, Haskell won’t have the heart to hurt you. But if you confess, you’ll be completely abandoned, left to live a life worse than death. Isn’t that right?”

Thatch’s face grew paler. “Haskell, don’t listen to her! She’s just trying to stir up trouble. She’s the one who tore the Judson family apart! Think about how ruthless she is—she even turned on her own parents. Do you really think someone like that has a good heart?”

If Haskell had felt even a shred of pity for the man who was his father before coming here, it vanished the moment he heard him slander Larissa.

“Larissa, could you step outside for a moment?” he asked gently.

Surprised, Larissa hefted her backpack. “You don’t need me to interrogate him?”

“No,” Haskell said with a faint smile. “This is something I need to handle myself.”

“Fine by me,” she said with a shrug. “I can handle whatever you do to him, no matter how bloody. But if you want me out, I’ll wait outside.”

She turned and left the room.

“You as well,” Haskell said to Dr. George and the nurses.

Dr. George nodded and exited with the two nurses. Crispin closed the door behind them.

Now free to move, Thatch scrambled off the bed and rushed to Haskell, kneeling before him and grabbing his hand. “Haskell, you heard what I said, didn’t you? You sent Larissa away because you believe me, right?”

Haskell looked at the desperate face of the middle-aged man before him and slowly pulled his hand away. He was done wasting words.

He doubled over, clutching his stomach like a cooked shrimp. Before he could say another word, a second kick sent him sprawling to the floor. Crispin planted a foot on his chest, then knelt down and, with two clean, efficient motions, sliced across both of Thatch’s wrists.

“Aaargh!”

Thatch let out a pained scream that sounded like a pig being slaughtered. His face went white with agony. His tendons had been severed.

Before he could even process the shock and pain, Crispin grabbed his ankles and, with the same swift precision, cut the tendons there as well.

Another bloodcurdling scream tore from Thatch’s throat.

But Crispin gave him no time to recover. He grabbed Thatch’s face, squeezing his cheeks hard and forcing his mouth open. The blood-streaked dagger moved toward Thatch’s tongue.