Page 110 of Thin Lives

No one seemed to notice his entrance—not Connor, standing across the room in his worn jeans and a blood-spattered T-shirt, or the man chained to a hook from the ceiling.

The man was damn near unrecognizable.

All of his clothes had been cut off, exposing split, raw, and bleeding flesh. It looked like Connor was literally taking strips of skin off the man’s body, but that was just the bloody mess making it hard to discern the very straight and precise cuts.

Connor began humming a tune that Calisto felt was familiar, as he spun a small knife against the pad of his thumb. Then, without anyway warning, he quieted and struck out with his hand, hitting the man just below his right collarbone with the knife, leaving it embedded in his body.

Calisto flinched when the man’s bloodshot, brown gaze flew wide, a scream echoing. Then, he started choking, followed by vomiting. Connor moved out of the way, chuckling loudly, and avoiding the vomit splashing on the floor.

The man deserved it, though. All of it.

Torture was hard to stomach, but this man deserved it.

With a flick of his wrist, Connor grabbed the hilt of the knife, pulled it from the man’s chest, and spun him around on the hook so that he rotated slowly.

His toes barely touched the floor, forcing him to almost dance to keep what pressure he could off his wrists, shoulders, and arms.

The only areas on his body it looked like Connor had left untouched.

No doubt, they were in pain just the same.

“How do you like my work?” Connor asked without turning around to face Calisto.

“Looks … painful,” Calisto settled on saying.

“It is. But to give him the dues he deserves, he managed to keep his arse from begging for the first two hours. That’s a feat, believe me.”

“I will take your word for it, Connor.”

Sometimes, monsters were hard to spot.

They weren’t shady people in an alley.

They weren’t disfigured so that their faces could be recognized.

Sometimes they were charming. Men who wore suits, kissed their wives every night, and shook your hand with a smile.

Sometimes, monsters were men like Connor O’Neil.

“What of it now, Calisto?” Connor asked, finally turning to greet his companion with a wide, warm smile.

A smile that spoke nothing of the torture he was currently inflicting on another soul.

That was probably the scariest part of it all.

Connor was so good at hiding his monsters.

At the sound of Calisto’s name, the man hanging from the chains seemed to wake from the stupor he was in. His eyes flew wide, jerking back and forth as he tried to focus and search for whatever it was he wanted to find.

Calisto stepped forward, taking the bloody knife from Connor when the Irish boss offered it.

Once Calisto was standing in front of the man, he didn’t meet his gaze right away. He let the man take him in as he looked over the bloody, sharp edge of the knife Connor favored. He had watched the Irish boss use this very one once before, so he figured the man liked it.

“Why?” Calisto asked.

It was all he said.

He figured it was all he needed to say.