Page 5 of The Silencer

They should feel everything.

I want them alive as long as possible. Days. Weeks even.

I want them to regret ever touching him, ever trying to snuff out his light.

The way he looked curled up on the ground of that bathroom, the welts on his skin, the bruises. The way he bled. The way his tears slipped from his eyes, how he reached for me when I finally arrived. How he called out for me while he slept…

I’m going to make them bleed for every kick, every punch, every hateful slur.

I finally see the open doorway and make my way inside. My fingers grab the gloves in my suit jacket pocket, and I put them on. They squeak as my fingers flex, my legs carrying me toward the tray of knives that Bane has set out for me.

“Time to take you apart,” I say lowly as I stand in front of the three bloody men all tied up in a row.

The men who hurt him.

“Please,” one starts to say, but I don’t want his words. I don’t want to hear him speak.

There’s a reason I’m called The Silencer.

I nod to Bane and the other man standing guard, and then reach toward the prisoner, pulling his mouth open as he grunts and drools.

“First your tongue,” I say as I grab the knife and bring it up to his lips. “And then every other piece of you.”

His screams make it worthwhile.

A small atonement for his crimes.

And yet, it’s not enough.

No, there will be more. Much more. I think of every hour I’ve spent at his bedside. Every hour that he’s been in agony, and I’ve been unable to help him. Every rasped breath and pained moan. I think of it all and know that even this may not satisfy me. For every day the boy is hurting, for every bruise on his body, these prisoners will suffer. And only when I’m satisfied will I let them die.

Only then, I think as the knife carves into muscle.

Only then.

3

TATUM

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a soft voice says as my eyelids flutter open.

I see Angel hovering next to me, his sweet smile greeting me as I come into consciousness. Like an angelic being come to visit me, shining bright.

“Hi,” he breathes, his hand grasping onto mine gently.

“Hey,” I murmur, and he grabs a cup off the table and helps me take a sip of water. It wets my parched mouth, and I feel the relief of it almost immediately.

“Better?” he asks, and I nod. I still ache, but the medication that they’re surely pumping into me is helping lessen the pain. It makes me feel more like myself. Though I’ll feel more like myself once I’m out of this bed and moving around again.

I usually have endless chaotic energy.

An energy that is being stifled and restrained at the moment.

“Yeah,” I say and sigh, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for saving me. Thought I was a goner there for a second.”

He nods, swallowing, his blue eyes wet. His blond hair, almost as light as mine, covers his head like a halo. In the sunlight that’s shimmering through the cracks of the blinds, he positively glows.

He’s nothing like his father—the man who simmers in the shadows.

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