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He should know better, but he doesn’t.
Not yet.
“Which room do you want him in?” Lou asks.
“Hang him in the dining room…” I instruct my cousin as I go to unlock the interior door. “He’s made me want to play with knives today.”
With a snort, Lou drags him out of the trunk, none too gently, and pulls him by his feet into the house. It’s not that Aloysius can’t pick him up... He just wants to be a dick because the stalker tore his expensive t-shirt. As the man’s head thuds against the three concrete steps leading into the laundry room, my cousin chuckles to himself.
I created another monster when I brought Aloysius into my circle to curb his anger issues, but he thrives on the violence of cartel life.
Inside, I turn for the kitchen as Lou straps the chains to the man’s wrists. He rips the tape from his mouth, and a string of shouts and cursing begin.
They won’t last long.
Soon, they’ll be shrieking and pleading.
I take my time pulling the large leather roll from the pantry and placing it on the stainless steel medical trolley. Then I think better of it and reach for something a little more fun. I grab the suspension hooks, the four-gauge needles, and this nifty metal thing that helps me push the needles into someone’s skin.
“I changed my mind,” I mention to Lou as I wheel my cart into the dining room. “Take him down.”
“You want the chair?” he asks over the shouting.
“I don’t believe we’re going to need it. I have other plans.”
Lou rolls his eyes but lowers the pulley to readjust our captive. I take an alcohol pad and carefully wipe down the thick needles. They’re used, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. As the man gets his feet under him, I pinch at his back. His arms are still raised, so it’s a little awkward, but it won’t stop me from getting the job done.
He screams before I even have the chance to pierce him. But as I slide the first needle through the cloth of his shirt and the tissue of his shoulder blade, his wailing causes my ears to ring.
There’s a chunk of meat inside the hollow needle, so I don’t exactly blame him for how loud he’s being…
“Pathetic.” Lou scoffs at him. “People do this for pleasure. You should look at it as being offered a fresh experience.”
“It’s a shame, really…” I say conversationally as I shove the two-gauge hook into the smaller hole I’ve made. “Why hasn’t anyone trained him? Especially if they’re sending him after people like me?”
He thrashes about, his pain and anger blending together but doing nothing to help release him. But it is his fault for being sloppy and getting caught.
Lou hits our captive, and his head lolls. Probably from a concussion after he kissed the parking lot at The Cherry, but I’m no doctor. I slide the second needle through his right shoulder, taking my time as I set the scene. Then I replace it with another hook, pushing it into the hole.
I should have chosen the bigger needles…
I rig a second rope through the pulley and feed it into the eyelets on the hooks. Tiny metal bits secure all the pieces, keeping them from slipping and letting me adjust them as needed.
Lou pulls the rope, stringing him up by his back and wrists.
Skin suspension has interested me for a while, but I haven’t had the time to be meticulous about it. That’s probably why the hooks ripped through the last guy.
“How does that feel?” I ask the captive. “I almost put them higher on your shoulders, but you had more meat lower down. It wouldn’t bode well for me if your skin tore halfway through torture.”
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
Lou cackles at me. “On a scale of one to ten, would you say you’re satisfied with—”
The captive spits at us, hitting me in the chest with his bodily fluids. I tsk as I take a white cloth from my trolley and clean myself.
“That wasn’t nice,” I chastise, my eyes narrowed at him. “It’s very unsanitary.”
“It’s unbecoming,” Lou mocks, then grows serious. “You should have begged for your life.”
