"Please," Harris whimpers as Torch binds his ankles to the metal rings embedded in the floor. "I have information. I can help you find the others."
"Others?" Matthew's voice is deadly calm as he selects a knife from the table. "You think we care about anyone else right now?"
Harris struggles against his restraints as Isaac leans down, his face inches from Harris's.
"You hurt my daughter," Isaac says, each word measured and precise. "You threatened my granddaughter. You think death is the worst thing we can do to you?"
I take the knife from Matthew's hand, testing the edge with my thumb. "Pain is just the beginning."
Jackson moves to Harris's head, gripping his jaw and forcing his mouth open. "He needs to stay quiet. Don't want to scare the women outside."
The sounds that follow are not loud. We're professionals, so we know how to inflict maximum pain with minimal noise. Harris learns this quickly as Matthew begins with precise cuts to nerve clusters, places that won't kill but will make every breath agony.
"Remember Sarah?" I ask as I work, my voice conversational. "Remember how she screamed when you hurt her?"
Harris's eyes bulge, tears streaming down his face as he tries to twist away.
"Hold him still," Carter growls, his massive hands keeping Harris immobile.
Greyson moves to the other side, his expression impassive as he takes his turn. "You thought you were making them pure? Let's see how pure you feel now."
I take my turn with the knife, watching as blood wells up along Harris's chest. His skin parts beneath the blade, revealing pink tissue underneath. I've seen men die in worse ways, but rarely have I felt such cold satisfaction.
"You thought you could take her from me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You thought you could take my family."
Matthew moves to the opposite side of Harris's prone body. "Let's see what he looks like without his skin."
Harris's eyes widen with terror as he understands our intentions. His screams are muffled by the rag Jackson has stuffed in his mouth, but his entire body convulses against the restraints.
Greyson hands me a larger blade, one with a hooked tip designed for precisely this purpose. I begin at his collarbone, making an incision that extends down to his sternum. The skin peels back like parchment, revealing the glistening tissue beneath.
"Hold him still," I command as Harris thrashes.
Carter and Torch increase their pressure on his limbs, their faces impassive despite the gruesome work. I've seen these men take apart enemies before, but never with such methodical precision.
Matthew works from the other side, his movements mirroring mine. We've done this before, in another life, for other reasons. Never like this, though. Never for this.
"Remember the women?" Matthew asks Harris, his voice deceptively gentle. "Remember how they begged you?"
Harris's eyes roll back in his head, but Jackson slaps him hard, forcing consciousness back upon him.
"Stay with us," Jackson growls. "This is just the beginning."
I work the blade beneath the skin of Harris's chest, separating it from the muscle beneath. The sound is wet, organic, it's the sound of a man being unmade. Blood pools around him, soaking into the dirt floor of the barn.
"Get the salt," Isaac instructs. His voice is steady, clinical. The voice of a man who has seen atrocities before but never had the chance to administer justice himself.
Caiden hands him a bag of rock salt. Isaac pours it directly onto the exposed tissue of Harris's chest. The effect is immediate. Harris arches against his restraints, his muffled screams rising in pitch.
"Now he knows what it feels like," Isaac says, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Now he understands pain."
Matthew and I continue our work, methodically separating skin from muscle. Harris's body has stopped struggling, but his eyes remain open, fixed on the rafters above. He's still alive. He's still conscious. He's experiencing every moment of this.
"Turn him," Greyson commands.
We flip Harris onto his stomach. I begin at the base of his neck, working the blade beneath the skin of his back. The flesh peels away in sheets, revealing the intricate network of muscle and tissue beneath.
"Morgan asked that he not see the light of day again," Matthew reminds us. "She didn't specify how."
