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"I'll go with them," Lorcan says, flicking his gaze to Arden who nods his head in agreement.
“Be safe, brother. There could be more of them out there,” I say, my gut twisting at the thought. Lorcan is more than capable of looking after himself, but we rarely do anything alone, and him leaving without us doesn’t sit well with me.
“Always,” he replies, giving me and Arden one last lingering look before following Leon and Konrad out of the room.
“You know I’m more than capable of getting the information we need, if you want to go with loverboy," Beast says with a wink as he grips the man’s face in his huge hand. "I don’t need you hanging around and cramping my style."
"We're staying," I reply, brooking no arguments. "Now if you wouldn't mind getting on with it."
Beast smiles. "I like it when you're bossy.” Then he pulls out a flick knife from his back pocket, opens it up and stabs it into the man’s thigh.
The scream that rips out of the bastard’s mouth has my lips curling up in a cruel smile. Violence is second nature to the men in this room. We’ve grown up swimming in it our whole lives. There have been many, many times I’ve witnessed this kind of violence, delivered it myself even, and eventually it begins to eat away at the empathy within you until all that’s left is a cruel husk of a man with barely a human heart.
The only shred of light and real,truehappiness that has tempered the darkness has been Lorcan and Arden, and now that I’ve finally opened up my heart to Cyn, her too.
"Tell me where your cunting leader is hiding!" Beast demands, applying more pressure to the blade, sinking it further into his muscular thigh.
Blood oozes out the side and the man chokes out an incomprehensible string of syllables, his eyes popping with the pain as spittle flies from his mouth. Eventually he finally manages to wheeze out a reply. "Fuck. You."
"No, I'm pretty sure you'll be getting fucked in the arse with this blade if you don't tell us what we want to know," he replies, twisting the blade in his leg.
More screaming. More fucking tears. But still no answer.
"Listen," Beast says, removing the knife and pulling up a chair, blood pumping from the wound "We all know you ain't living to see another day. But I can make your passing quick if you tell us."
“Fuck… You…” he repeats.
Beast slams the knife into his other thigh, this time up to the hilt. The cry that leaves the cunt’s mouth is more animal than human.
“Looks like you’re the one getting fucked, mate,” Beast says conversationally.
The man laughs. He actually fucking laughs as blood coats his teeth and his eyes turn wild.
“He’s not going to talk,” I say, glancing over at Jakub and Arden who are both watching intently as this all unfolds.
Neither make any move to intervene, clearly trusting Beast to get the job done, but I’m not so certain. When I meet Arden’s gaze, he shakes his head, and I know he’s warning me not to get involved, to let Beast do what he does best. So, despite my instinct to slice off one of the man’s ears and forcefully feed it to him, I don’t.
“Look, I’m gonna level with you,” Beast says, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lighting one. He drags in a long breath, smoke trailing out of his mouth as he speaks. “I’ve been doing this for a long, long time. I have a one hundred percent success rate. You ain’t dying before we find out what we want to know, and I have no issue making this as excruciatingly painful for you whilst I do it. So do yourself a favour and fess up.”
Beast leans back in his chair, puffing on the cigarette, and waits. After a minute of silence, Beast launches forward, grabs a handful of the man’s hair and yanks his hair back.
“Fuck, fine. Have it your way,” he says with a shake of his head, before turning to me. “Carrick, pin his left eye open, would you?”
I get to my feet, and grab the man’s face, forcing his eye open. He spits and curses at me, trying in vain to throw us both off.
“Ever wondered what it felt like to have a cigarette put out in your eye?” Beast asks, before taking the cigarette from his mouth and hovering it just above the man’s eyeball. “I hear it’s fucking painful.”
“No! Noooo!” the man screams as Beast lowers the burning ember over his eyeball.
“You gonna talk?” he asks, holding it there.
“Motherfucker,” the man spits.
“Wrong answer,” Beast smirks, stubbing out the cigarette right into the centre of his eye, the hiss and pop as it burns through his cornea is stomach churning.
“Fuck,” I grind out, letting the man’s head go and taking a step back as he screams and screams, this stub of the cigarette sticking out of his eye.
“I did warn you,” Beast says, leaning back on the knife still impaled in the man’s thigh.
