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A long breath leaves me. “You heard my babysitter.”
Crow hums. “You’re no fun anymore.”
I plunge my knife in the hole caused by Tristan’s screwdriver and twist it inside, toying with his pain receptors over and over until he squirms. “Neither are you.” I lean close. “Why did you let Tristan catch you?”
A nostalgic look darkens Crow’s features. “Maybe I’m done with it all.”
No. There’s something more. Something that made the mighty Crow fall so willingly.
Not that I care. Blood is my only aim today.
I draw a line from his upper shoulder to his palm, closely following the tearing flesh, tendons, and every little drop of blood.
Crow grits his teeth, stifling a scream. Arsehole has always been tolerant of pain. It’s almost unnatural. He grins, refusing to give me any satisfying reaction. Bastard. He knows that I hate the lack of those.
Mae does that too sometimes, and I yearn to push her to the edge. See if she will scream then.
Bloody hell. What does Mae have to do with any of this?
‘Focus on the blood, Aaron.’ Aunt scolds.
I do as instructed, careful not to drive Crow into a shock, only severing his veins for slower exsanguination. The ceremony of blood calms my senses. This, right here, is peace. Pure fucking euphoria. The voices take their fill of hard-earned blood. We all needed this. Even if Crow is chained and isn’t so cooperative with his reaction.
“We have a board meeting in an hour.” Dylan’s composed voice comes from the speakers.
Screw time limits. Torture shouldn’t be confined by a deadline.
I jam one last punch into Crow’s stomach and leave the room to give way to Dylan. I throw my now-reddish plastic coat and gloves in the bin before taking a seat next to Tristan. “Dylan will flip.”
“Not this time.” Tristan leans close to the window, one hand supporting his chin. “He has a plan.”
Dylan places both his hands in the plastic coat’s pockets and approaches Crow’s bloodied body with a broad smile. “I’ll tell you a little story. Consider it my parting gift.”
“What’s that, 109?” Crow spits blood as he speaks. “If it’s not the story of a family’s massacre, then I’m not interested.”
He’s provoking again. It was never his style.
Crow’s pupils dilate and sweat pours out of his skin almost as smoothly as blood. He’s struggling to stay conscious. Dylan better keep his story short because I would rather not deal with reviving Crow from shock.
Dylan’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes sombre up. “This i
s much more entertaining, believe me.” His voice takes a dramatic turn. “In a small town in Southern France lived a beautiful nurse. Then, the kind nurse fell in love with a foreign patient. Sadly, that man left her after a few months’ affair. She thinks he’s dead.”
Dylan stops his storytelling and leans in to stare into Crow’s eyes. To give our former trainer credit, he tried to hide his reaction. If he was under better physical circumstances and in front of other people, Crow could’ve gotten away with the slumping of his face and his fake smile. But not with us. Dylan hit a burning spot.
“Fortunately for the beautiful nurse, he’s not dead. Unfortunately, he will die today,” Dylan says with feigned sadness. “He can choose to die alone or with her, though. I promise to bury you together.”
Crow’s eyes heat up, allowing emotions to take him over.
Is that what’s been making him act unlike himself? A hidden love interest?
He used to preach us about discarding our hearts and only following our minds – not that I had a problem with that.
And now he’s practising the opposite of what he preaches.
What type of idiot breaks his own rules?
“What’s my guarantee that you won’t hurt her if I tell you?” Crow grits from between clenched teeth.
