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I grip the back of his neck in a firm hold. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, Mr. Minor, now, would you?”
“Of course not,” he blurts out a little too quickly and loudly.
I turn him around in his chair and place my hands on his while he grips the arm rests, his nails biting into the brown leather. “Let’s play a game. You win and you get to remain whole, physically speaking. I win—let’s just say, you walk away missing a few pieces.”
“But I told you everything I know.” There’s a high pitch resonance in the whine he attempts to dissuade me with.
“No, you told me what you think I wanted to hear. I told you not to lie to me, Mr. Minor. Now stand up and strip down.” I straighten, giving him space to do as I say.
“What? I’m not going to strip for you.” The fear lacing his voice as he protests in earnest is like the sweetest of lullabies to my ears. My head tilts back and I drink it in.
I pull a gun from the holster under my jacket and tap the barrel against his desk. “I think you might want to reconsider your position.”
“Fuck.” Is the only thing he says before standing and ripping off his jacket. With trembling fingers, he works the knot of his tie loose and unfastens the buttons of his shirt, removing both.
“And the rest of it,” I tell him, using the gun to gesture to the lower half of his body when he stalls with the rest of his clothing on.
Once he’s fully naked, I gesture for him to sit back down in his seat. “Log into your social media,” I order him, though I’m sure if I just enter the web address of one, he’ll already be logged in. The prick probably considers himself untouchable and doesn’t think about things like web security.
Once I’m sure we’re in his accounts, I pull a pack of zip ties from my back pocket and use them to bind him to his chair, pinning his hands and feet in place. He watches in horror as I prepare to start a new live feed video with him the star of the show. “So, this is how this is going to go,Jeffery.” I use his first name, belittling the social hierarchy he’s built for himself. “You’re going to go live and tell everyone that you enjoy visiting Scarlet Bush Club and forcing unwilling girls to service you in any manor you so desire, including torturing them for your sick satisfaction.”
“What? No, that would ruin me and my life.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a pair of black leather gloves and slip them on. I pick up the discarded necktie, making it into a loop, I twist it tight around Jeffery’s testicles, pulling until he’s crying out in pain and tears are leaking from his eyes.
“I hear this is how they get bucking bulls to perform during rodeos. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I can imagine that would piss them off enough. Are you feeling pissed off yet, Jeff?”
His breaths come in heavy gasps and his eyes squeeze shut. His hands fist tightly over the edge of the armrest as he tries to keep himself very still.
“Now, let’s try this again. Are you ready to tell the truth about your association with her and the club?”
Silence sits between us for a beat too long. I sigh and tug on the tie, causing him to wince in pain. His eyes fly open, his pupils large and swallowing his irises. “Yes. Yes. Yes,” he says quickly between clenched teeth.
“Yes, what?” I ask, raising a brow and tilting my head to give him my good ear.
“Yes, I’ll admit the truth,” he says, nearly screaming his agreement.
With a grin firmly in place, I stand and press the record button on his computer. The light indicating his camera is on flashes to life at the top of his monitor. I nod for him to start.
He pulls in a shallow, harsh breath and a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. He licks his dry lips and I knock on the desk. He flinches at the sudden noise and his voice cracks as he speaks.
“I’m a frequent visitor at a gentleman’s club … S-Scarlet Bush Club. I’ve, I’ve watched girls dance half n-naked, stuffing bills in the band of their limited clothing.” He squeezes his eyes closed and sniffs.
I pick up a tack off his desk, aiming for a nipple I let it fly. He jerks with a squeak and groan when the tie tightens. Air hisses through his clenched teeth and he continues, “I’ve gone with …” he swallows as he meets my eyes and I shake my head “…taken. I’ve taken a girl into a backroom for VIPs. We can do … anything we want w-with—and to—the g-girl.”
I hold up my gun, pointing the end of the barrel between his eyes. A silent threat to keep going. His eyes cross and his face pales more as he focuses on the gun, and I think for a second he might just pass out.
“I’ve forced a girl to suck my dick,” a sob tears through him with the last word and he looks down at the angry purple appendage. “She was high on drugs and not all there. I h-hurt her with a whip. I tied her up and had s-sex with her. I’m so s-sorry.”
His chin drops to his chest, his tears flowing more freely but are they for what he’s done or for the fact that he’s been called out, I don’t know and honestly, don’t give a fuck.
Hitting stop on the live recording, I watch as the comments of disgust and outrage pour in. Family members asking if this is a joke. Strangers making crud remarks and references. Friends questioning his sanity and judgment. Seconds pass and his phone rings, going to voicemail only to start ringing again. A never-ending frantic call for answers.
“Well, Jeff, I think our time is just about up here. You’ve effectively ruined your life publicly. Just one more thing before I go.” I pull out a knife and small wooden box from my pocket.
His body jerks in the bindings, a sad attempt to pull away. “W-what are you doing?” he asks, a frantic note to voice.
I kneel at Jeffery’s feet and run the side of my blade up the inside of his thigh until I reach his firm, angry purple testicles. Without ceremony, I slice through the skin housing the round sacs and cut them free, dropping them in the box.
