Chapter 32

H andling a weapon is second nature to me. I could do it blind and still nail a bulls-eye every time. My father taught me how to load a gun before I mastered my shoelaces. Mom never approved, but my dad refused to budge, spending hours target practicing with me. Now that I think back on those summer afternoons, they’re the best memories of my dad.

But a gun won’t do now that my anger resembles a volcano about to erupt. I need something sharp. Something that’ll hurt like a motherfucker.

Sinclair enters the basement, looking sharp in a black tailor-made suit. He eyes the naked, sweaty man strung up like a slaughtered cow from chains attached to the rafters. I’ve already roughed him up with my fists a few times, my knuckles cracked and bleeding, but that’s foreplay compared to what’s coming.

“I can’t shake you these days,” I say as I inspect each sharp tool on the metal table. “Do you miss me already?”

“Well, you did threaten to murder the terrified doctor with his own stethoscope if he didn’t agree to discharge you before you were ready.”

“My wife was kidnapped. I can’t stay in bed all day while her captors touch what’s mine. It’s rather disrespectful of them if you ask me.”

“Have I ever told you that you can be a scary motherfucker when you get in these moods?”

“What moods?” I ask, inspecting a sickle probe.

“You’re looking at that tool, Darian, like you want to pop his eyeballs with it. It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

I hum an agreeing sound. “When in Rome.”

“And then there’s the language you use when you’ve passed the line of pissed off into nuclear angry. You almost sound like a duke from centuries past.”

“While this has been a pleasant chit-chat, Nathaniel, I have a man to prep for the reaper.”

“I think I’ll stay for the entertainment.”

With a scoff, I cross the grimy cement floor to where one of the Bishop’s Pawns dangles like a worm on the hook, his toes barely skimming the rusty metal drain. Locks of sweaty, blood-streaked blond hair stick to his damp forehead and his right eye is swollen shut.

“You know,” I say as I round him with slow, measured steps. “I almost feel sorry for you. How old are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? I would feel inclined to let you go if I didn’t have it on good authority that you were involved in the kidnapping of my wife.”

Just the mention of it has my blood boiling all over again.

“I don’t take well to others touching what’s mine.”

“No one raped her,” he rushes out, swaying on the spot. “No one touched her.”

“But you did put your hands on her. How else did you take her away from me? See, here’s the thing. No one so much as puts their fingers on my wife’s body unless, of course, they want to lose their digits. By the time I’m done with you, your fingers will serve as birthday candles for my wife’s next celebration, and your hands, well, I’m sure we can find some use for them.”

“He’s not lying,” Sinclair pipes up, enjoying the fear in my victim’s eyes. “Mr. Beaumont thought he could get away with touching her, and he ended up cut into pieces.”

“I never hurt her,” he says as sweat beads on his brow. “I would never hurt a woman.”

I laugh. I can’t help it, but then it dies in my throat, and I shove the sickle probe deep into his ear canal, making him scream like a dying, wailing animal. Liquid seeps from his ear, mixed with blood, as he continues crying and blubbering.

“It doesn’t feel so good having your eardrum pierced, does it?” I taunt, yanking the tool back and ripping his ear. “You have good teeth, so I’m sure you know this tool is used to remove plaque, but it has other uses, too.”

Behind me, Sinclair chuckles, but I’m not here to entertain him. I’m here to purge the restless fury growing inside me and demanding to be set loose on vermin like this strung-up man who thought he could take my wife from me.

She’s mine.

No one fucking else’s.

“Where did you take her?”

“If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”

“Newsflash, pup, you’re dead either way, but it’s entirely up to you how much pain you want to experience before you meet your maker.” In a swift move, I shove the sharp tool into his nostril, so far fucking up that tears spring to his eyes before I hook it and pull hard, shredding and causing significant damage to his nose.

“Tell me where she is,” I demand when his agonized screams finally die down, “or I’ll set to work on your gums next.”

“I don’t know where she is.”

Seconds pass while I suck on my teeth in mild annoyance as the man desperately tries to find purchase with his toes on the floor. Ridiculous. Out of all the people I could capture and torture, it had to be this pathetic fool who is barely old enough to order beer.

Bored out of my mind, I spin on my heel, wondering what it will take to get him to sing. My wife is out there somewhere in their filthy clutches, probably scared out of her mind. I swear if anyone has so much as left a mark on her skin, I will eat their innards for dinner.

Sinclair laughs behind his fist as I skim my fingers over the tools before collecting a set of pliers and walking back over to the bleeding man. I grab his jaw and pry it open with my bruising grip, wrestling with him until I have his front tooth secured in the pliers.

His terrified eyes lock on mine briefly, and I don’t know what he sees there, but I hope it’s the devil himself.

It takes effort to pull a tooth, but it’s satisfying as hell to see the long, twisty roots pop out of the gums, though I don’t care much for the grotesque noises or the endless screaming. For once, I don’t wait before giving his next front tooth the same treatment, yanking, pulling, and wiggling while he thrashes in the chains.

Inspecting the milky tooth under the fluorescent flickering light, I pull a disgusted face before walking around him and spreading his ass cheeks with two gloved fingers. He barely fights me as I insert the two teeth into his rectum, shoving them knuckle deep and wiggling for good measure because why not? He’ll soon find out firsthand how much enjoyment I get from his pain and humiliation.

“How many teeth do you think I can fill your ass with before you finally talk?” I look over the sobbing man’s shoulder and ask Sinclair, “How many teeth do humans have?”

He shrugs, his arms crossed. “Most adults have thirty-two teeth.”

“Interesting. I’m a bit bored with pulling teeth, though. It’s such standard torture, don’t you think? My friend here”—I wave vaguely in Sinclair’s direction as I round the trembling prisoner—“he’s the senior dentist. I’m more of an…intern.”

“Do I even want to know?” Sinclair says as I pick up the electric hand mixer.

“Probably not,” I reply, hunting for the extension lead and plugging it into the nearest socket. I spin around to face my best friend with the mixer in the air. “Are you judging my methods?”

“Well, no.” Sinclair looks away so I don’t see him smothering a laugh. “It’s just… In all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone bring an electric hand mixer to an occasion like this.”

“Seriously?” I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t you ever have intrusive thoughts when you whisk up pancakes or something?”

“What kind of intrusive thoughts?”

“I don’t know… Like what would happen if you shoved your hand in there.”

Sinclair blinks at me, his face blank. “Can’t say I do, no.”

“Huh.” I shrug.

“But go ahead, whisk a confession out of him.”

“Har. Har,” I reply, experimenting with the settings. The whirring sound makes the man whimper behind me, and I slowly spin on my heel with what I’m sure is a manic look on my face.

Maybe the brain bleed did more damage than I thought because, for the first time I can recall, I’m enjoying myself. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Where’s my wife?” I enunciate each word as I take slow steps closer. “Tell me, and you can spare yourself a lot of pain.”

“Liar,” Sinclair coughs into his fist behind me, and I glance at him over my shoulder with a ‘what the fuck?’ look.

“Why don’t you leave if you aren’t going to be helpful,” I suggest.

He holds up his hands. “I’ll behave, teacher. I promise.”

Grumbling under my breath, I turn back to the man who needs to tell me what I want to hear this instant before I lose my damn mind. Every second counts.

“Final chance. Where’s my wife?”

When I bring the whisk dangerously close to his face, his eyes blow wide, the whirring sound loud and threatening.

“They took her to some warehouse.”

“Where?” I growl.

“I don’t know.”

“Liar,” Sinclair pipes up again, just to piss me off.

Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, I turn to face him so slowly that it feels like I’ve aged a decade by the time we lock eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be? A tight pussy to fuck, perhaps?”

“Not at this present moment in time, no.” He matches my dead tone, but I don’t miss the slight twist at the corners of his mouth. He’s always been an infuriating fucker when he wants to be.

“Well then,” I grit out with a fake-ass smile. “Shut your mouth and let me drill for oil in this man’s Uranus.”

He barks a laugh. “By all means, go ahead. Let off steam.”

As I swivel back around, the chained man panics, swaying back and forth with the effort of moving away from me. “No, no, no. I don’t know anything, okay.”

“That’s unfortunate for you,” I say as I drop into a crouch behind him.

He screams and wails and sobs when I shove the whisk into his rectum, my thumb hovering over the switch. “I’ve been very patient with you today, but unless you talk, you’ll soon find out that patience isn’t my virtue. Your boss has my wife, which makes me the most dangerous man on the planet. I’m not pissed, okay? I’m beyond enraged. The correct wordage doesn’t even exist in the human language yet. So unless you want me to make rectum mash of your asshole to go with your meatballs, I suggest you tell me where your boss took my wife.”

“Oh, God,” he chokes out, trembling violently, his remaining teeth chattering. “Okay, okay.” Sucking in a breath, he lisps, “They took her to the abandoned warehouse near the burnt-down cigarette factory. You know, the one on the news a few years back.”

Sinclair shakes his head as he laughs quietly, rubbing his forehead. He knows what comes next. He knows what I need.

With a flick of my finger, the mixer whirrs at an alarming speed as blood and shit gushes from his rectum and onto the floor. I push deeper, a red haze taking over me. If the angels could scream, I’d be in heaven now.