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Not technically strong enough to be so cocky, as Oswald reminded me with a quick chastisement.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” I suggested, gesturing at the chair with the scalpel.
His eyes had focused, wide and horrified. The initial sense of safety from the medical surroundings had vanished. “No fucking way.”
“Would you rather I make you? Like you were going to make me take your knot? Oh, how the tables have turned.”
“You overuse that saying, and you sound like a cartoon villain,”Oswald commented.
I barely resisted shooting him a glare. My sugary sweet smile stayed aimed at the man. He made no move to get up. A rush of Latvian left me again, his body floating of its own accord. Seconds later he was strapped in to the arms and footrests. Gotta keep all appendages inside the ride at all times, or something like that.
“You weren’t supposed to be some crazy bitch,” he said, spittle flying from his lips.
“Oh? And what was I supposed to be?”
If he was going to spout crap with the mere threat of a scalpel, my job was easier than I’d thought. “Some sweet Omega cunt. And I bet you are, too, beneath the fucking lunatic.”
I’d like to think so. He’d never get to experience it.
“And who told you all this?”
He blinked a few times, then shook his head. “No one.”
Speech free from curses. That was new. Had he just now realized that this was an interrogation? “Liar. Do you want to find out what happens to liars?”
“I’m not lying.”
His voice wavered and expression stayed carefully blank. Before, he’d been enraged, forehead lined with the emotion. This man was a horrid liar. Spinning the scalpel around in my fingers, I darted forward faster than his eyes could track me and slammed the sharp end down into his thigh. A scream tore from his throat, echoing around us. There was no one else to hear in this part of town.
“You’ll either answer my question truthfully right now, or you’ll beg me to let you tell the truth in twenty minutes. Or sooner,” I said, twisting the blade.
I observed his reaction. There was pain, followed by fear, and finally pure terror. The fear was of me. Terror was because of someone else. I had to find out who, because they were to blame for the increase in Alphas realizing my designation recently. Someone was giving out hints about who I was. His silence wasn’t surprising. I’d have work to do to heighten his fear of me until it matched the terror.
Pulling the scalpel from his leg, blood gushed and soaked the ripped blue jeans he wore. The wound closed fast, fae healing the only barrier to him bleeding out from the injury to his femoral artery. I repeated the same injury on the opposite side, stabbing and twisting and removing. That time, the injury bled more and took a few seconds longer to heal. His healing was already less effective. What a weak fae. Especially for one who was masquerading as a predator.
He thrashed in the restraints every time the blade of the scalpel touched his skin. Sometimes I went hard and deep, other times the slashes were long and shallow. Tears were dripping down his face by the time I tuned into his words again. “I’m not lying. No one told me anything,” he said. Or, I thought that was it. The exact words were muffled by his choked tone and stuttering. He’d bitten his tongue, the appendage swollen in his mouth.
With a sigh, I placed the scalpel on an empty tray off to the side and turned to my options. I needed maximum scare factor, but minimal bloodshed. My captive wasn’t far from passing out.“Any suggestions?”I asked Ozzy.
“Drill?”
If anyone else was present, they would be horrified at how my expression lit up with glee. Perfect. Something about the whirring and spinning of a drill terrified people. I’d had success with the method before. Picking up the cordless drill, black with purple accents, I attached a drill bit and grabbed a screw.
When I turned back to the fae, he paled and thrashed pointlessly again. “You might pass out when I do this,” I commented. “But when you wake up, you’re going to tell me what I want to know or experience the worst pain of your life. Because you know what’s worse than having a screw drilled through your hand? Having it pulled out slowly after the skin has healed around it.”
His pupils were huge, engulfing the green irises. Words fell from his lips, a mess of pleas and promises. “Jitara, he told me. He did, I swear. It’s the truth. Please, no. I’ll tell you everything.”
I laughed. Jitara had to be a name, unless I’d heard the muffled words incorrectly. He was ready. “Too late. You can tell me everything when you wake up.”
Smile laced with sweetness, I turned on the drill and heard the crunch of bone as the screw ripped through his hand and embedded itself in the arm of the medical chair. His eyes rolled back in his head and I couldn’t tell if he was awake, but I grabbed a second screw and did his other hand. He screamed his throat hoarse and then slumped.
“I thought I was going to have to cut off fingers before he was more scared of me,” I said, placing the drill beside the bloody scalpel to clean after. “Then again, eventually people realize one threat is always more imminent. And that’s me.”
His body twitched, the skin visibly healing around the screws in his hands. Passing out had been a temporary escape, his body deciding it was necessary. If I tossed a bucket of cold water on him, he would sputter back to life. I’d give him a minute, though. When his hands were already healed, the threat of having the screws removed would be more pressing.
“I’m concerned if he’s this terrified of the person who knows your identity,”Oswald said.
He’d been perched on the trays of unused tools, leaving stray pieces of fluff everywhere, but leaped over to the bloody tray. A tiny pink tongue darted out to run along the length of the scalpel, avoiding the sharp edge. He tilted his head to the side, rolling the flavour around in his mouth, before shrugging. As well as a cat could shrug, anyway.
