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‘Oh Hugh, what a pickle you’ve gotten yourself into.’
‘Please, I didn’t mean any of it. I was forced to do it,’ Hugh begged.
‘Being forced would be more believable if your dick hadn’t been hard, or if you hadn’t deployed your knife with so much fucking glee. You’re a surgeon, aren’t you?’
Hugh paled beneath me and nodded slowly. ‘I was.’
‘Loved wielding your scalpel so much that you wanted to use it outside of work too... I’d always heard that surgeons had a God complex, and while I’m sure for many it’s not true, it’s true for you, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ he stuttered.
‘Lying won’t save you. Do you know how many men I’ve met just like you? Who think they rule the world because everyone is too fucking afraid to stand up to them. You’re not unique. You’re a fucking plague. And here I am: pest control.’
I took his hand in mine, threading my fingers between his and twisting, so the back of his cuffed hand faced towards me.
‘How many people have suffered under these hands?’ I asked, getting close to his face. I laughed as he let out a snarl. With four quick, sharp jabs of my knife, I severed the extensor tendons. His howl of pain made me squirm with joy. I let go of the useless fingers, having removed his ability to straighten them. Taking the other hand, I gave him a sickly-sweet grin.
‘Please, not my right hand. I’ll do anything. Fuck, please?’
‘You’ve done quite enough.’ The second cry was as joy-evoking as the first.
‘You know all about tendons, don’t you? You made a career out of fixing them.’ I got off him and walked down to his ankles. A pool of acrid yellow stained his boxer shorts as I lifted his foot.
‘No, please don’t.’
‘Achilles,’ I said. It took a lot more force to cut through the tendons behind his ankles with the way he jerked and fought against my grip. Thank goodness, the cuffs restricted the movement.
‘You’re making this much messier than it needs to be,’ I said through his gasping sobs while wiping my bloodied hands on his bed covers.
I stood above him, watching as tears glazed those red cheeks.
‘You’re going to suffer terribly before you die, Hugh. But you will die. You and all of your fox-tattooed friends.’
Moving down his body, I found the fading blue tattoo on his thigh. Alfie ducked out of the room. I worked my knife until I’d cut it from his leg, the skin flapping in my hand as he howled. I pushed the bloodied flap between his lips and covered his mouth as he wretched. His eyes bulged, his stomach heaving again and again.
‘Swallow it,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘This repulsion you feel now, I felt that every time you touched me. Every time you made me bleed just so you could laugh at my tears. This is how you made me feel.’
I pinned his nose with my other hand, watching as his face purpled. At last, his throat bobbed in desperation.
‘Good boy.’ I smiled at him, patting his cheek as he took great panting breaths.
‘You’re a sick fuck,’ he whispered.
‘I am, and you were one of the men who created me. What perfect karma. Now, I think it’s time we moved to the kitchen; we’ve got a little cooking to do.’
Petros stood at the door, looking pale, but still there to support me.
As always.
THIRTY-SEVEN
PETROS
Harriet worked in the kitchen, quietly humming to herself as she did. I watched, somewhat dumbstruck as she grated cheese.
Alfie had gone into the living room with Hugh’s phone and computer to begin searching the web for the others. He’d watched a lot less of Harriet’s revenge than I had, but this was pushing even my limits.
She picked up a pinch of grated cheese and held it out to me.
