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Vic slides into place once Troy’s hand is free and grabs his wrist, keeping him pinned to the wall.
I glance over my shoulder to where Ransom is still standing with Willow. “Ger her out of here.”
“No.” Willow lifts her chin, shaking her head. “I want to stay.”
I blink in surprise, clenching my jaw as I meet her gaze. “It’s gonna be bad, Solnyshka,” I warn. “You don’t have to watch this.”
But she just straightens her shoulders, her brown eyes flashing. “I want to.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I consider arguing with her. After all the shit she’s been through, this isn’t what she should be seeing. The last fucking thing she needs is more violence. But I take in the set of her mouth, the way she’s holding herself, and all I see is her strength. She might look fragile, but she’s not, and I can’t deny her a chance to see what happens to the man who hurt her so badly.
So I nod.
When I turn back to Troy, all I know is purpose. Somehow, Willow being here to watch just makes it even more intense. I want her to see what happens, what I’ll do to anyone who tries to hurt her, as if somehow that might make her feel safer after all of this.
I flip the knife in my hand, catching it by the handle over and over again. Troy’s hazy eyes follow the movement, and I smirk at him, rage and vengeance overtaking everything else.
“You’re gonna wish you’d taken her offer the first time,” I tell him honestly.
And then I move.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I use the knife to cut through the waistbands of his pants and boxers, leaving them with no support so that they fall down around his ankles.
He gasps in shock and anger, and I bring the knife right up to his dick, letting him feel the sharp edge on his most sensitive bits.
That makes whatever indignant shit he was going to say die right in his throat, and he whimpers.
“Yeah,” I tell him, my throat so tight with anger that the words are hardly more than a rasp. “I know what you’ve been doing with this, you piece of shit. You’ve been sticking it where it doesn’t fucking belong, haven’t you? And maybe if you don’t know how to use it right, you shouldn’t have it.”
Troy chokes out a wordless noise of fear, but I ignore it. I wrap my fist around his dick, squeezing hard enough to hurt, and then slash the knife downward, severing it with one clean cut.
He screams in pain, his eyes rolling back and his entire body bucking against the wall, as if he’s trying to somehow escape the confines of his own skin. Too bad for him, that’s not possible. The noise he’s making is too fucking loud though. I feel confident that we’ve taken care of all of his bodyguards, and this place is so remote that there’s almost no chance anyone will hear us.
But still, his increasingly high-pitched scream grates on my nerves, so I shut him up by shoving his bloody severed dick into his mouth. He almost chokes on it as I stuff it between his lips, shaking his head and groaning, but I don’t stop until it’s finally muffled some of his sounds.
It’s quiet enough now that I can hear Willow’s small intake of breath behind me, but even though I’m acutely aware of her, I keep my focus on Troy.
Beside me, Vic’s eyes are glittering with their own kind of anger and determination. He has another knife in his hand, and he stares at Troy with that cool, calculating look he gets sometimes.
“I think I owe you a little something,” he says. “You wanted to leave me for dead, didn’t you?”
Troy starts to shake his head, but before he can try to say anything around the dick gag, Vic stabs the knife into his side, mimicking the wound my twin is still favoring from getting shot.
From there, we take turns, each of us getting our pound of flesh for all the pain and torment this asshole has put Willow through. Vic stabs him in different places, twisting the knife in deep, and blood stains Troy’s clothes, dripping down to the floor.
I need something more visceral than that. More up close and personal. So I hit him, hard, over and over again. My fist collides with his side, and I don’t let up until I hear the crunching of his ribs. I hit him in the face, breaking his nose, leaving his mouth and chin a bloody mess.
Troy doesn’t take it well.
There’s no more of that smug bullshit, that pompous attitude where he thinks he’s calling the shots. Within a few minutes, he’s reduced to a sniveling mess, crying and screaming and shaking where he’s held against the wall.
Behind us, Willow just watches it happen. Ransom has a hand on her shoulder, but neither of them move as Vic and I keep torturing Troy.
It doesn’t take long before he breaks.
Finally, the fucker manages to spit out his own dick, letting the bloody, limp thing flop to the floor with a wet sound. His voice is wrecked, halfway between a sob and a scream as he cries out, “Okay! I’ll do it! I’ll do whatever you want, just please… fucking stop!”
A savage, dark part of me wants to keep going. Wants to take him all the way to his limit and then past it. I want to get in his face and tell him he probably didn’t stop when Willow begged him to, that he probably just got off on it even harder.
