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Think of the three people he raped and had his people kidnapped. It could’ve been Tiana.
It could have been Aurora.
Marsela’s dark eyes are empty as he stares back at me.
Gripping hold of his pinky, I position the needle beneath his nail. The fucking thing is long and yellow, making me look forward to peeling it off.
As slowly as possible, I push the needle into his skin, watching as the sharp point forces the nail to tear. My eyes flick back to Marsela’s, and I notice as he clenches his jaw, his lips thinning.
When I push deeper, he tries to pull his hand back, but the strap keeps it in place.
I let my hatred for him show as I growl, “Where are the three people you raped and kidnapped?”
“Fuck –” I push the needle deeper, and he pauses to clench his jaw, then he hisses, “Fuck you.”
The needle tears deeper, then I pause so the pain can register. “Where are they?”
This time he remains silent as sweat beads on his forehead.
“You only have two years left. The moment you set foot off St. Monarch’s ground, I’ll be waiting,” I taunt him.
The needle’s halfway, and the man is sweating like he ran a marathon.
“I’d like to try the rats on you. I feel it will be a fitting death.” I push the sharp end until it’s touching the white of his nailbed. “Imagine rats tearing through your skin, eating their way through your stomach, clawing through your spine…” I push it all the way. “Pouring from your back as your body convulses from the shock of being eaten alive.”
Marsela tries to pull away again, and as the point of the needle breaks through the skin behind his nail, he cries like a fucking girl.
“Kiska,” I mutter the wordpussyin Russian as I yank the needle out.
“Take the nail,” Instructor Volkov instructs. “Make him talk.”
I drop the needle on the table and pick up the pliers. Giving Marsela a smug smile, I say, “Last chance. Where are the three people your group kidnapped?”
Marsela shakes his head hard, and sucking in harsh breaths of air, he tries to steal himself as I grip hold of the yellow nail. Using the pliers, I wiggle the nail, taking my sweet fucking time.
“Where are they?”
Marsela’s body strains, his fingers locking in place as I start to pull.
“Where are they?” I keep repeating, knowing the question is wearing him down.
As the nail starts to tear loose, he screams, “Dead! They’re fucking dead.”
I stop pulling at his nail, and frowning, I ask, “Why? Unless you deal in necrophilia, I can’t imagine what you’d do with three dead bodies.”
Marsela glares at me with absolute rage as he growls, “They were used for hunting.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Oh. That’s new.” Nodding, I proceed to tear his nail off at a fucking snail's pace.
He grunts a couple of times, spittle flying from his mouth, then it turns into an agonizing groan right before he shouts, “Yield!”
Ignoring him, I rip the nail completely off, then grinning, I say, “Oops. Didn’t hear you in time.”
Just because I can, I bring a fist down on his pinky, ripping a cry from him.
Leaning closer, my voice is low and deadly as I growl, “Two years from now, you and I have a date with a bucket of rats and a blowtorch.”
I get up from the chair and walking to Alek and Armani, I see the pride in their eyes.
