Page 6 of Savage

He doesn’t move, his hands frozen to the spot. Out of all the men I’ve killed so far, he’s the most submissive in the way he’s begging for mercy. He hasn’t tried to fight me off. He hasn’t even tried to argue.

“You’re not bothered if you die today, are you?” I ask him as curiosity wins out.

I hardly ever talk to my victims. They’ve all fought, spluttered, and gurgled, but none have ever sat back and let me get on with my work. The doctor’s passive response is intriguing me.

“I-I’ve done bad things,” he admits, causing me to pause. “The guilt I’ve felt over the years has brought me to this point. I wanted to make amends, so I decided to help the victims of abuse. I started taking on patients who’d experienced your kind of trauma.”

He looks up at me then, and I am sure he’s trying to coax me into showing him some mercy because he’s trying to atone for his sins. But nothing can ever come close to penance for what he’s done, what all those men have done—including my father and Bane.

“I don’t expect you to understand or forgive me,” he murmurs, his voice low as the blood continues to drip from his eye and tongue.

I’m amazed by his ability to withstand the agony he must be experiencing.

“So, you think you deserve a chance to right your wrongs?” I question, my voice is a mere whisper, but it’s filled with amusement.

He realizes then he’s going to die, I can see it in his expression. I’ve learned how to read my victims. I know how to tell when their fear has overwhelmed them and they’re ready to meet their maker.

“That’s no longer up to me.” He gurgles as he speaks, his voice breaking with every word.

The smile on my face is obvious when I take the sleek, silver needle, I’ve had in a vise-like grip, and press it into his other eye. It’s thin with a sharp tip that doesn’t do much damage, but it does cause excruciating pain.

“It’s a sickness,” I tell him. “It’s not something you can heal from, and it’s not something you can repent.” When blood trickles from the small incision made by the needle, I finally see what I need, what I crave, when he flinches. “As a friend of my father’s, you must be aware that evil does exist. You must know that no amount of talking or therapy,” — I spit out the word— “will ever make up for what you vile monsters do, have done, and will continue to do.”

“I know,” he whispers as his head slumps back against the chair, and I step away to take in my handiwork.

It’s not the first time I’ve toyed with someone’s vision. I’ve found three men from my list of names. The fine doctor being my third.

“Tell me who else is running the trafficking rings,” I demand, even though I know he won’t say anything. These men are tight-lipped about who’s involved. Finding the names of those we’ve eliminated so far hasn’t been easy. “Or I could just log on to your computer,” I tell him as I gesture with my head toward his desk.

“I-I can’t.” It’s the first time, since I walked into this office and revealed who I am, he looks scared.

“It’s not like you’re going to survive this,” I throw back with a smile. “So why not make my life easier and tell me the names.”

“You’ll never be able to take her on,” he says, his voice fading.

His injuries and pain are finally taking their toll as his lashes flutter. He’ll be dead soon.

I’m intrigued by his response. I know women are involved in the organizations, but we have only come across one so far, and she wasn’t at the same level as my father was or Bane is currently.

So, I ask, “Who?”

He looks at me for a long time and then answers, “Even though I know it doesn’t make any difference and it won’t change what happened, I am sorry for my part in all of this. I truly am.”

I can hear in his voice he’s getting weaker, closer to death. My calm facade quickly fades as I grip his shirt and start shaking him. Tears break free and trickle down my cheeks as I panic. I need answers. He can’t die without telling me the names of those in charge.

“Don’t you fucking die without telling me the truth. I want names,” I scream at him.

He only smiles in response.

When I feel hands on me, I shudder before realizing it’s Dante who’s got a firm grip of my shoulders.

“Calm down,” he whispers in my ear, coaxing me from the doctor who is now slumped in the wingback chair. “What the fuck is wrong?”

“He doesn’t want to talk,” I reply as I turn away from the dying man.

Dr. Stirling doesn’t have long to live, and a feeling of frustration races through me. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’ll have to find the answers myself, and I turn around to face his desk.

When the silencer goes off, I snap my gaze to Dante who has ended the bastard’s life. He turns to me and his eyes pierce right through my armor. Whenever I’m on a job, I shut off all my emotions. Even though we kill monsters, they are human. Empathy is the last thing I need on my mind, so I have to lock it away. If I don’t keep my emotions in check, there’s a danger I’ll not be able to finish the job.

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