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We were aware of these nicknames. They’ve been following us for years now. They couldn’t have picked more perfect for us. Fuelling me is nothing but a thirst for vengeance. As for Scott, his love for slicing throats clings to him like a lost puppy seeking his owner.
“Anyway. I’m really honoured that you know us. Now, now. Do you know why we’re here?”
He looks at us, unsure of how to reply. The room is silent except for the sound of his laboured breathing as he struggles against the unyielding restraints on his wrists and ankles.
“B-because of the women?” I sit down before him, feeling the rough texture of the wooden chair beneath me. For tonight, we opted for his mansion. We couldn’t be bothered to take him to the Den.
I lean forward, studying him closely for a few moments. The fucker’s face is starting to show bruises around his eyes, and there are a few cuts on his face. Scott has been light with him.
It’s a common misconception that the wealthiest people are the most put-together when, in fact, they are often the most corrupted.
“That’s correct. Now, I need you to tell me who’s behind the trafficking.”
We rescued so many women in the past few years, but that doesn’t stop other organisations from blooming like wildflowers. I made a promise to myself eight years ago. I’ll do everything in my power to stop them.
That cost me my life. I lost them both that day. I lost myself. But there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to protect Blakely from the monster I was going to become.
“I-I don’t know,” he responds, his gaze flickering away from mine. Typical answer.
They always think they’ll get away until they come face to face with the consequences of their actions. It’s sad, really, when you think about it. They dedicate their lives to selling women, yet they have the audacity to believe they have any value. Not on my watch.
“Very well.” Looking at Scott, I give him a quick nod. He approaches us, and I can feel the excitement emanating from him, even through his mask.
“Are you sure you don’t want to speak? Because it's been a while since I had fun,” Scott asks. The guy remains silent. Oh, it’s gonna be fun.
Scott takes his knife, moving it in front of him. His eyes go wild. “Which fingers should I start with?” he asks us.
“Hmm,” I say pensively. “Any of them would do. Really.”
Scott starts to put pressure on Alasdair's middle finger, which makes him howl in pain. “You sure you want to stay silent?” Still no answer.
Scott pushes hard, and his knife slices through the skin like butter. The sound of his bones cracking is like thunder in the small room, his screams of agony filling the air until he blacks out. Scott grunts, causing me to turn my head towards him.
“What is it?”
“I just can’t with fingers. They’re really disgusting.”
I shake my head with a smirk. Seriously, this guy has killed more people than I can count, and he’s disgusted by that?
“Why didn’t you pick something else, like his ears or his eyes?” He shrugs. “You’re 36, for fuck’s sake.”
“Hey, don’t judge me. We all have our icks. Yours is so wei—” he trails off as a faint sound interrupts our conversation, causing us to look in the direction of the noise.
“Welcome back. Ready to give us some answers? Because the Slicer,” I say, emphasising the nickname, which makes Scott’s eyes light up with a smile, “plans to go for your ears next.”
Nothing. I guess we lost our touch. I come closer to him, ignoring the excitement in Scott’s eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to speak?” I ask, retrieving my knife. “No? Very well. Slice? Care to remove his trousers?”
“Why me?” He pouts.
“I can do it, but you’ll have to do the rest,” I say, and the look he gives me tells me everything I need to know. He won’t touch someone else’s dick. “That's what I thought.”
I can feel the panic in the guy’s gaze as Scott makes him stand and starts to unzip his trousers.
“W-what are you doing?” Blood from his missing finger covers him. But not enough to atone for all the heinous acts he’s committed.
I completely ignore him, not even glancing in his direction, until he settles back into the chair. Leaning closer, my voice drops to a low and menacing tone. His eyes remain fixated on my tattooed hands, my fingers idly toying with the knife.
