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It doesn’t take long. By the time I’ve divested one hand of its fingernails, Alexei’s screams begin to fade, his body sagging downwards. I nod to Levin, who steps forwards with smelling salts, waving them under Alexei’s nose until he comes to again.
“That was disappointingly few,” I tell him. “Let’s try again.”
It goes on for a long time. Caterina and Sasha watch through it all, neither of them flinching or getting sick, which is more than I can say for even some men who have had to watch other men being tortured. Every time Alexei passes out, as I divest him of his nails, his teeth, his fingers joint by joint, Levin rouses him again, cauterizing any wounds that bleed too badly.
Finally, when I step back to breathe, wiping sweat from my forehead with a blood-spattered arm, Liam steps forward.
“My turn,” he says quietly, and reaches for the knife.
There’s two fingers left on Alexei’s left hand, brought down from the rigging briefly for this purpose, and Liam pulls one of them back, pressing the knife against the joint. “This is for Ana, you fucking dogshite,” he snarls as Alexei groans.
When he’s done, he holds out the knife towards Max, who is standing next to Sasha as she watches, her face pale but resolute. “Want a turn?” Liam asks, as casually as if passing a controller for a game, and Max hesitates.
His hands aren’t bloodless. But I know for a fact he’s never tortured a man. I can see the quandary in his face, the fight between his desire to hurt the man who hurt Sasha, and the vows he once took.
Finally, he steps forward, and takes the knife from Liam. “Give me his right hand,” he says quietly. “The one he used to beat her.”
Liam trusses up Alexei’s left again, ignoring his groans of pain as he jerks the right free. Alexei’s head lolls towards Max, his bloodshot eyes rolling up towards the other man’s face.
“Aren’t you afraid of your God?” Alexei slurs, blood dripping from his lips as the words come out thickly.
Max pauses, the knife pressed against Alexei’s forefinger, the nailbed raw and red. “I would be,” he says simply. “If I thought God were in this room.”
I take the knife back when he’s finished, and start in again, cutting away piece after piece of Alexei, Levin rousing him each time he comes close to unconsciousness. Finally, I press the knife into his groin, looking at him with cold, cruel eyes.
“You should have known there would be no mercy for you, when I caught up to you.” My voice is a low growl, and I slice downwards, taking off the very last piece of Alexei that I’d planned to cut away. Levin is there instantly, cauterizing the wound, and Alexei jerks in the ropes, a deep groan of agony coming from his raw throat. “No mercy for you at all,kozy’ol.”
Alexei’s head drops forwards, his eyes fixed on mine. I see everything that I’d hoped for in them—despair, agony, and above all, a deep and engulfing terror of what he knows is coming next, his own end. He fears death more than any man should, I know that now, because for all the pain I inflicted on him tonight, he hasn’t begged for it even once.
If it were another man, I’d respect such restraint. I’d even call it courage. But for Alexei, I know it’s nothing but cowardice.
“You said I was old and toothless,” I remind him. “You didn’t fear me, Alexei.A bear without claws, you said.” I lean very close to his face then, close enough to smell the stink of his fear, sweat and piss mixed together in a rank odor combined with the iron scent of blood.
“You should have known better,” I growl then, pressing the blade of the knife to his throat. “For what you’ve done, this bear will rip your throat out.”
And then I jerk the knife sideways, laying open his throat from ear to ear.
Alexei jackknifes in his ropes as I step back, watching as the blood starts to run down his throat, his eyes going wide with terror as he feels it streaming from him, his life leaving him in a stream of rich red that slides down him, over his chest and down his neutered body, dripping onto the stage as he jerks and twists, as if he could get free.
As if anything could save him now.
I can see the knowledge of his coming death in his eyes, the cold terror as they glaze over, and I watch him until every last drop of his life has drained away.
“Get rid of the body,” I tell Levin. “Have Max and Liam help you. I need to get cleaned up before I see my children.”
Caterina comes up to stand beside me, reaching for my hand. She looks up at me, unflinchingly, and I know in that moment that I love this woman—completely, entirely, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in all my days.
She is, without a doubt, the other half of me.
“Let’s go get our daughters,” she says quietly, and I nod.
Hand in hand, we leave the room.
