Page 6 of Caged

The top half of a bright green felt costume is tossed on a heavy wooden table, while the bottom half still adorns the bleeding man tied to a steel chair that’s bolted to the floor.

Alexei picks up the head of the outfit and jiggles it, making the plastic eyes roll in their sockets.

“I can’t! This is too much!” His arms fly up, launching the green top across the room to land in a bunch at the base of the concrete wall.

While he tailspins on the costume, I reach forward and grab the man's sweaty hair, and tilt his head up.

Glaring dark eyes meet mine before he musters a wad of saliva that he spits out at me.

It lands on my chest as I jerk away.

“Fucker.” Backhanding him, the heavy ring on my finger slices into his jaw with the impact.

Fresh blood peppers the floor, adding to the stains of the countless pawns before him.

Jax tosses me a towel before leaning over the smirking man. “Wow, dude. You’re just begging to be hurt, aren’t you?” His fist lands squarely against the Reaper’s mouth.

When the King of Chaos hits, we all hear the crunch of bones breaking.

Alexei’s laugh grows louder than the howls of pain from the tied man.

“I thought he would make a ribbit,” he says over his shoulder as he digs into my bag. “Here.” He hands me a long pair of pliers. “These will be good for that long tongue of his.”

I like his thinking.

“Jax, grab his jaw.” I flex the metal tool while Jax pinches the swollen cheeks. When he pries his lips open, I reach in with the needle nosed end and grip the tip of the wiggling organ. It tears the flesh at the bottom where the teeth pinch, but I don’t need him to talk.

Not yet.

“Let’s see how well you’d catch flies.” I give the handle a tug, which is followed by a gurgling scream.

“It works.” Letting it hang, it pulls his tongue out to be held by the weight of the pliers. Pink swells into purple as I push his shirt off of his chest.

Just as I thought, his body is covered in tattoos. But, the Russian flair is unexpected.

I know these symbols. I have many similar ones adorning my body.

“Alexei. Look.” Pointing at one in particular, we’re both temporarily transfixed and thrown into another time.

The Roman numeral IV mark of my father stares back. Ivan takes a sense of pride in having his men branded like his cattle.

I have one too, but have since hidden it beneath other art.

My brother’s is gone. It disappeared the same night I lost her.

Rage festers in my gut making a sour taste form in my mouth.

This buffoon may have been a part of the worst day of my life.

“Alexei. Knife.” Holding my hand out, he drops the perfect weapon in without looking.

Sometimes, he’s crazy. But, sometimes, he’s brilliant.

The thin edge slices easily beneath the taut skin and peels the ink off in a clean-edged square.

It even separated from the membrane without piercing into the muscle beneath.

I could be a surgeon.

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