“You know,” I say as I round him with slow, measured steps. “I almost feel sorry for you. How old are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? I would feel inclined to let you go if I didn’t have it on good authority that you were involved in the kidnapping of my wife.”
Just the mention of it has my blood boiling all over again.
“I don’t take well to others touching what’s mine.”
“No one raped her,” he rushes out, swaying on the spot. “No one touched her.”
“But you did put your hands on her. How else did you take her away from me? See, here’s the thing. No one so much as puts their fingers on my wife’s body unless, of course, they want to lose their digits. By the time I’m done with you, your fingers will serve as birthday candles for my wife’s next celebration, and your hands, well, I’m sure we can find some use for them.”
“He’s not lying,” Sinclair pipes up, enjoying the fear in my victim’s eyes. “Mr. Beaumont thought he could get away with touching her, and he ended up cut into pieces.”
“I never hurt her,” he says as sweat beads on his brow. “I would never hurt a woman.”
I laugh. I can’t help it, but then it dies in my throat, and I shove the sickle probe deep into his ear canal, making him scream like a dying, wailing animal. Liquid seeps from his ear, mixed with blood, as he continues crying and blubbering.
“It doesn’t feel so good having your eardrum pierced, does it?” I taunt, yanking the tool back and ripping his ear. “You have good teeth, so I’m sure you know this tool is used to remove plaque, but it has other uses, too.”
Behind me, Sinclair chuckles, but I’m not here to entertain him. I’m here to purge the restless fury growing inside me and demanding to be set loose on vermin like this strung-up man who thought he could take my wife from me.
She’s mine.
No one fucking else’s.
“Where did you take her?”
“If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”
“Newsflash, pup, you’re dead either way, but it’s entirely up to you how much pain you want to experience before you meet your maker.” In a swift move, I shove the sharp tool into his nostril, so far fucking up that tears spring to his eyes before I hook it and pull hard, shredding and causing significant damage to his nose.
“Tell me where she is,” I demand when his agonized screams finally die down, “or I’ll set to work on your gums next.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
Seconds pass while I suck on my teeth in mild annoyance as the man desperately tries to find purchase with his toes on the floor. Ridiculous. Out of all the people I could capture and torture, it had to be this pathetic fool who is barely old enough to order beer.
Bored out of my mind, I spin on my heel, wondering what it will take to get him to sing. My wife is out there somewhere in their filthy clutches, probably scared out of her mind. I swear if anyone has so much as left a mark on her skin, I will eat their innards for dinner.
Sinclair laughs behind his fist as I skim my fingers over the tools before collecting a set of pliers and walking back over to the bleeding man. I grab his jaw and pry it open with my bruising grip, wrestling with him until I have his front tooth secured in the pliers.
His terrified eyes lock on mine briefly, and I don’t know what he sees there, but I hope it’s the devil himself.
It takes effort to pull a tooth, but it’s satisfying as hell to see the long, twisty roots pop out of the gums, though I don’t care much for the grotesque noises or the endless screaming. For once, I don’t wait before giving his next front tooth the same treatment, yanking, pulling, and wiggling while he thrashes in the chains.
Inspecting the milky tooth under the fluorescent flickering light, I pull a disgusted face before walking around him and spreading his ass cheeks with two gloved fingers. He barely fights me as I insert the two teeth into his rectum, shoving them knuckle deep and wiggling for good measure because why not? He’ll soon find out firsthand how much enjoyment I get from his pain and humiliation.
“How many teeth do you think I can fill your ass with before you finally talk?” I look over the sobbing man’s shoulder and ask Sinclair, “How many teeth do humans have?”
He shrugs, his arms crossed. “Most adults have thirty-two teeth.”
“Interesting. I’m a bit bored with pulling teeth, though. It’s such standard torture, don’t you think? My friend here”—I wave vaguely in Sinclair’s direction as I round the trembling prisoner—“he’s the senior dentist. I’m more of an…intern.”
“Do I even want to know?” Sinclair says as I pick up the electric hand mixer.
“Probably not,” I reply, hunting for the extension lead and plugging it into the nearest socket. I spin around to face my best friend with the mixer in the air. “Are you judging my methods?”
“Well, no.” Sinclair looks away so I don’t see him smothering a laugh. “It’s just… In all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone bring an electric hand mixer to an occasion like this.”
“Seriously?” I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t you ever have intrusive thoughts when you whisk up pancakes or something?”
