Seth
“Go ahead,” I smile as I step closer. “I’m right here. Take your shot.”
He stinks of rot and panic. He's slumped in the chair because that's the only way he can stay upright at all. One shoulder sags lower than the other. His left leg jerks when his nerves misfire. His mouth works around blood and spit, but nothing worth hearing comes out.
I tilt my head and study him. “Let’s make things fair, I don’t enjoy mutilating people who can’t fight back.” I lean in until my face hovers inches from his. “That’s your thing.” I tap his chest once, light, almost friendly. “So here’s your chance. Hit me.”
He tries.
The effort wrecks him. His broken arm twitches uselessly, bone scraping inside torn muscle. His other arm shakes when he tries to lift it, wrist bent wrong, skin split wide where white bone pushes through. A whimper tears out of him before he can stop it.
I laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re too much of a pussy to hit me.”
I grab his arm before he can pull it back. My hand closes around what is left of his wrist, fingers locking just below the joint. He sucks in a breath and shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his body tries to curl inward against the chair restraints.
“Now you know what it feels like.”
I twist.
The bone gives with a wet crack. Another shard punches through skin, longer this time, slick with blood. His scream fills the room. His body jerks against the chair, straps biting into him, legs kicking without coordination.
I lean in close, my mouth near his ear, and smile.
“That was just the warm-up.”
Behind me, Brooke moves toward the speaker.
“How about some music Elliot.”
I already know what she is doing. The first notes slide into the room.
“Goodbye Horses”
Elliot hears it immediately. His jaw locks so hard his teeth grind. His chest hitches and stutters, breath cutting in short, panicked pulls. A sound tears out of him that is not quite a scream and not quite a word.
I grin. Brooke has always had a dark sense of humor, and I fucking love her for it.
I step closer, slow enough that he feels every inch disappear. I want him tracking my movement. I want him counting seconds.
He tries to straighten in the chair.
His body refuses. Both legs are now broken. The ankle is shattered. His knee jerks uselessly. His torso tips sideways, caught by straps before he can fall. Something grinds inside his chest when he moves. We both hear it. His face tightens, and a strangled sound rips out of him as his lungs fight for a rhythm they can't find.
I press two fingers to his throat.
His pulse hammers under my touch, panic doing half the work for me.
I lean in.
“You know what’s funny?” I murmur. “This is the first time we’ve met in person.”
His eyes flick toward mine, unfocused and terrified.
“I’ve hated people before, I’ve hated them enough to take my time. Enough to remember their faces. But I’ve never hated anyone the way I hate you.”
I straighten just enough to look at him properly. Blood coats his mouth.
“You put Brooke through hell. You thought you were breaking her.” My smile widens. “All you did was make her stronger.”
