Page 43 of The Devil In Disguise

He tugs at his chains again with no luck. “Are you talking about what happened today? I’m fucking sorry, man. I didn’t even do shit to her, she hit me!”

Closing the gap between us, I haul him up to eye level by the collar of his button up. “I’m talking about ever speaking to her in the first place. You should have just left her alone,” I grit out.

Annoyance flares when his mouth opens to speak. I have no interest in hearing whatever moronic remark he’ll spew next. The deep grunt that escapes Duke the moment my fist connects with his gut in a sharp blow enables my annoyance to melt away as I relish in his grimace and already weak form.

“Fuck.” A string of coughs follow as he asks, “All this over some girl?”

Some girl?

He really is a bigger idiot than I had him pinned down as. In my few experiences with this guy, every time he opens his mouth, he gives me another reason to end his life. Nothing worth listening to comes out of his mouth, and frankly, I’m tired of his grating voice. It triggers the same switch Renato has controlled for years.

I tense then release my facial muscles, rolling my shoulder back before looming over him. “You have no idea the lengths I would go to for that girl. I want you to tell me how you fucked up with her, and for every fuck up, I’ll reward you.” Amusement laces my tone as I take a step back, calculating my next move.

“The quicker you die, the less pain you’ll experience. We don’t have to drag this out too long if you comply. Although, I would enjoy keeping you overnight.” Those are my parting words as I disappear behind his line of sight. Any pleas or bargains from him fall on deaf ears.

London Bridge Is Falling Down is my tune of choice to whistle when making my way to stand behind him, loud and deliberate, echoing from the walls with an eerie ringing. Duke is trying to stay quiet and track me down, but his body freezes when his gaze falls on Dario’s crazed smile.

“Listen, I-I don’t—" With the bullwhip in my hand, I lash out three rapid swats, transforming insignificant words into shrieks that heighten after each blow.

“Stop,” he whimpers weakly in between breaths.

“Okay,” I reply simply, then shrug towards Dario. “He looks a little hot, don’t you think?”

Instantly picking up on my implication, he walks over with his freshly sharpened hunter’s knife, swiftly cutting through the front of his button up then repeating through both layers on his backside. Ignoring his futile struggles, he rips the clothing clean off, leaving Duke in nothing but his pants and exposing the fresh welts I’ve decorated him with.

“All better?” Dario asks with a slap to Duke’s face.

“Perfect.”

Duke continues to struggle and plead until the whip smacks him again. The more flesh I tear through, the harder I strike. Crack. Crack. CRACK. His body shakes with his cries and the shock of the pain. I derive a sadistic joy from it all. The screams. The tears. The fear. Not as much elation as I see reflected in Dario’s eyes, but at this moment, I think I get it.

Switching the bullwhip to my left hand, I take the moment of respite to query, “Tell me…Did you ever put your hands on her?”

He’s quick to answer. Too quick.

“What? No—AH!” The whips makes contact with his raised, bloody skin before he can finish his lie.

“It would be in your best interest not to lie to me, puke.” I keep my voice low. Menacing.

“I never fucking hit her, man,” he spits. Dario takes one look at my face and takes a step back, eyebrows raised and a knowing grin plastered on.

I’m in Duke’s face in an instant, baring my teeth with my free hand squeezing his windpipe. “I saw the way you grabbed her at the café after your breakup. You looked a little too comfortable doing that for my liking.” Releasing my hold on him, I push myself back a couple of steps. “So, I’ll ask one more time. Did you put your hands on her?”

“No.” He flinches when I raise the whip. “Not intentionally! I just,” he pauses to suck in a breath, hiccups following his stray tears. “Maybe I’ve grabbed her too tightly or pushed her around, but I never beat her. I swear.” He drops his head down in a display of defeat.

Crack. Crack.

“But you wanted to,” I push, “when you lunged at her today.” The image of the event replays in my head, so I whip him hard on his chest. “Did you honestly think you could threaten or insult a hair on her head and I would just let it happen? That you would be able to go on with your life as if you're worth something in this world after that shit you pulled?”

Crack.

“Say you never deserved her.”

Crack.

Tripping over his words, he chokes out, “I-I never deserved her! I didn’t treat her right. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

The blubbering mess before me is crying like a petulant child now, bartering in any way he can think of. His entire torso is torn to shreds, crimson liquid cascading down into his waistband.

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