“They’re going to kill you anyway,” I step into his line of sight. “You’re already dead. But I can give you options. A slow death or a quick one. Your choice.”
He shakes his head hard. “You fucking idiot, I can’t. Elliot has…”
I backhand him across the face. The chair rattles beneath the force. Blood sprays from his mouth, hitting the concrete in wet streaks.
Before he can recover, I grab his face, fingers digging into his jaw, forcing him to look at me.
“You don’t get it,” I snap. “I’m not fucking around. I will flay your skin off piece by piece if it brings me one inch closer to finding her.”
Luke purrs approval.
“You’re wasting time,” he whispers. “Start with the eyes.”
“I’m going to ask one more time,” I say evenly. “Where is the manor?”
Dante coughs and spits. “You’ll never get in…”
I don’t blink.
I walk to the tool rack and take down the bone saw, its serrated edge catching the light.
“That foot is already useless,” I turn it in my hands. “Not worth saving, is it?”
His breath hitches. “No. No. Wait. Wait.”
I crouch beside his leg, the one Travis has already blown apart. The boot is soaked through, leather split and glued to what used to be skin. Blood has dried in thick black crusts around the laces. The foot inside is no longer shaped like a foot. It is swollen, split, bone pressing white through torn muscle.
It twitches when I touch it.
“You’re lucky,” I say quietly. “I’m doing you a favor.”
“No. Fuck. Don’t. Elliot will kill you.”
His voice cracks into something desperate.
I grab his ankle. The joint shifts wrong in my grip. I set the saw just above the worst of the damage, teeth resting against skin that is already split open.
Dante starts screaming before I even move.
Then I push down.
The first drag of the blade splits what is left of the flesh. It doesn't glide. It snags and tears. The teeth chew through skin and fat in jerking strokes that vibrate up my arm. Blood spills instantly, pumping out in heavy bursts that coat my hands and the concrete beneath us.
He thrashes against the restraints, chair legs scraping uselessly against the floor.
I saw deeper.
Muscle parts in stringy strands. Tendons stretch stubborn and white before snapping one by one under the grind of metal. The sound is wet and fibrous, like tearing soaked rope.
He is shrieking now, voice shredding itself raw.
When the blade hits bone, the vibration changes. A hard, jarring resistance.
I press harder.
The saw skips once, screeching against the bone before finding purchase. Then I drive it back and forth with steady force. Bone dust mixes with blood, turning into a pale, gritty paste that splatters across my forearms.
It takes longer than it should.
