Brave words considering what I’m planning on doing to him if he doesn’t confess. Hell, I might just do it anyway even if he talks. I let out a low whistle while Tracker starts to hum the tune to a happy sounding song.
“You know, I think you’re right. The eye first. Then the balls. If you don’t want to watch, you can look away. I’ll piece his dick after. Give him a nice PA. That’s what those things are called, right?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Tracker mutters. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, though, and I can tell he really does want to see me put that needle into some soft, painful spot and skewer the asshole like a bug. “But I think you should give him one anyway.”
“It’s decided then. Should we untie him and make him strip for us? Put on a show before we pierce his little prick? What do you think he’s packing? Three inches?”
“I’d say two.”
I stroll over and when I’m two inches away from the guy’s beltline, he lets out another ear piercing scream. His eyes practically roll up in his head, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he passed out.
“Alright!” He whimpers. “I did it. I fucking did it. I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Anything. All of it. Just please. Please, leave me alone.”
Yeah. Not gonna happen.But I can play nice.
I let my arm fall harmlessly to my side, the needle glistening now that it hits the light directly overhead. “Funny. I thought you couldn’t remember. You said you didn’t do anything. That’s not the case?”
“N-no,” he sobs. Tears trickle down his cheeks, which have turned from white to a sickly pale gray. His flesh doesn’t resemble the hue of anything living, that’s for sure. “I did it. I remember.”
“So now you remember?” Tracker asks dryly.
“I didn’t forget.” More pathetic sobs and shuddery breaths. More drool leaking down his chin. “I know why you’re here.You’re here because of them. I didn’t want to do it. I swear. I don’t know… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sick. I have a problem. I’ll get help. I promise. Just please, god, please, leave me alone.”
“You hear that, man? He says he’s going to get help. I think we can trust him. He’s going to get help. We’ve done our work here.”
Tracker levels a grin at me that’s so evil it churns even my stomach. I just wish Rapist Central over there could see it.
“I think you’re right.” I soften my tone and Tracker nods at me as he strides out of the room, hand slammed into his pants. He whistles a happy tune as he leaves and shuts the door tight behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he wails. “I won’t do it again. I swear I’ll get help. Counseling.”
“Counseling. Yeah. Sounds like a good plan to me. I’m sure you won’t do it again. Will you?”
I stare the squirming turd down. He looks like the steaming pile of shit he is, his once pretty face blotchy and gray, full of snot and tears, his urine soaked pants stinking in the warm room. Doesn’t the place have AC?
“No. I won’t do it again. It wasn’t me. It was the sickness. I never meant to… to hurt them. It just happened.”
“It just happened,” I say sympathetically, like I believe him.
His eyes widen at my change of tone and demeanor, and he nods his head wildly.
“How many times did it ‘just happen’. And don’t you even fucking think about lying to me.”
“Just four times. In ten years. That’s it, man. I swear. I’ve tried to control it. Keep it from happening.”
“You ever kill someone, cupcake?”
Spittle flies from his mouth as he spits out the words in a hurry, like I’m the offensive one here. “No, no man. I swear. I- I would neverkillsomeone. I’ll get help this time. I’ve been meaning to do it. I promise.”
“So you said.” I stretch, my vest flexing and creaking with the movement, snapping in the sudden stillness in the room. “And I believe you. Really. I do. I know it’s never gonna happen again. You’re never gonna lay a hand on another woman. Never gonna make another one your victim. You’re never gonna get away with rape and torture and abuse again.”
He nods at me so hard I’m a little shocked that his neck doesn’t rip off his scrawny shoulders. I imagine this man, this fucking piece of shit, worthless sack of shit, sorry excuse for a human being, touching my woman. My wife. Not just touching her but drugging her. Raping her. Taking her virginity. Laying his hands on her. Tasting her. Marking her. Dumping her. He was so fucking certain she’d never go to the cops. That she’d be too terrified, ashamed, confused, and traumatized to ever think of searching for answers or justice.
So fucking sure.
The little shit keeps nodding and then he gets brave and gives me a smile, like we understand each other. Like I’m sympathetic with him. Even if I was a stupid man, I know he’d say anything to get out of his position. And I’m not stupid.
I’m on the warpath and he’s going to pay. With his blood.
