His body jolts but the restraints hold him in place. He grunts. His breathing quickens as the pain heightens.
“You know what answer I want, I’ll just keep going until I get it.”
I press my blade against the wound again, his jaw clenches, his fists ball. He can’t hide from me.
“We’re going to take our time,” I say into his ear. “You can hold out as long as you like. How much pain you endure will be up to you.”
Time loses its shape.The air buzzes with tension and violence. The tang of copper is stuck in my nose.
My shirt clings to me, darkened with sweat. My hands ache from repetition. I flex my hands, trying to work the stiffness out.
Gideon’s head hangs forward, his breathing is uneven. Wet. Shallow.
His arms and legs are no longer smooth lines; they’re ruined patterns. Marked over and over again, like wood that’s been scored too many times by an impatient blade. Not random.
Never random.
Intentional.
There’s a thin trail on the floor beneath him, heading towards the drain under the table. I step around it without looking. I’ve been careful. Hegroans when I stop in front of him. I haven’t touched him, but he feels it. That tells me everything.
“You’ve had hours.” My voice is rough. “Plenty of time to decide what you value more.”
He swallows. It’s loud in the silence.
“Loyalty to a poor excuse of a man, or functionality over your body.” I continue.
He doesn’t speak, just pants.
“You were right about one thing: pain doesn’t break people.” I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders. “Exhaustion does.”
I circle him again. “And it seems that you’re running low on fumes.”
I head to the table, unscrewing a cap of alcohol. My father’s favorite trick. The cap hits the floor, and he jumps. He knows what’s coming.
“I’ll give you a chance. Where’s Daniel?”
His mouth presses into a thin line. I can see every part of him screaming from the pain, while also knowing how much more pain he’ll be in if I pour this bottle on his wounds.
He’s not willing to endure that for Daniel. He’s only endured up to this point to prove a point, his strength. His ability to withstand the torture. But he’s at the end of his rope, I can see the frayed edges, the thread is hanging on for dear life, about to snap.
I shrug as he remains silent. I slowly start to tilt the bottle, and the first big drops plop onto his arm.
“Alright! Alright!” he yells, and I pause.
“You have ten seconds, or I resume pouring,” I say.
“Daniel, he’s at a secondary holding site. A decommissioned private psychiatric annex. He’s holding current captives, conditioning them for what we want them to be. Or extracting information. Also, for transfer or disposal.”
I blink.
“So he’s training assassins, interrogating, trafficking, and murdering?” Noah’s voice comes through my ear.
“The psychiatric facility is already built for containment. With reinforceddoors, observation windows, and medical restraints. It’s the perfect hideout,” I mumble back.
I turn back to my sperm donor. I won’t be calling him my father ever again.
“Where’s the facility?”
