Page 70 of Justice

Zach steps up next, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He holds a cattle prod, the kind used to herd livestock. With a flick of his wrist, he jams it into Evans's side, releasing a jolt of electricity that has the man jerking like a puppet on a string.

I crank the pear again, making the opening even wider, chuckling at Evans’s screaming, and I step back just in time so he doesn’t piss on me.

“Gross.” I gag at the smell, and my grandpa starts laughing loudly. “Shit, boy, you have this fucker with his ass split open with burnt flesh hanging off, and you get grossed out by his piss?”

Everyone joins in the laughter. “Well, I was sick at the sight of his dick too, but I didn’t complain.” I shrug, and Derek laughs the loudest of all.

We’re all fucked up and it's showing.

Mason withdraws the blowtorch, admiring his handiwork with a sadistic grin. Evans's back is a ruined mess of scorched flesh and weeping blisters. He twitches and shudders, his voice reduced to whimpers.

I wrench the pear from his abused hole, and he screams at the top of his lungs. With a disgusted sneer, I toss it aside. It clatters to the floor, slick and glistening.

Konrad steps up, a hypodermic needle in hand. He jabs it into Evans's neck, depressing the plunger. "A little cocktail to keep you conscious," he explains coldly. "Can't have you checking out on us too soon."

I move to the gears of the rack, a device used to slowly pull the joints apart in someone's limbs. Evans's eyes widen with renewed terror as he realizes what's coming next.

"No, please!" he sobs, his voice ragged and desperate. "I can't take any more. Kill me, please, just kill me!"

I lean in close, my eyes burning with a merciless rage. "Kill you? Oh no, we're not nearly done with you yet. You haven't even begun to suffer the way Elle suffered."

With a vicious yank, I turn the crank. The gears grind and the ropes pull taut. Evans howls as he feels his arms and legs stretch, the joints creaking under the strain.

I keep cranking, slowly, methodically. The tendons in Evans's shoulders and hips quiver, then snap, one by one, likeover-tuned guitar strings. He writhes and shrieks, his voice cracking, fading to a rasping keen.

He turns to look at each person in the room to see if anyone would have any pity for him.

"How does it feel?" I snarl, leaning over him. "To be helpless, at the mercy of someone else's cruelty? To know that your pain brings them pleasure?"

Evans can only gurgle in response, his voice destroyed by his incessant screaming. Blood bubbles from his lips, frothing pink as it dribbles down his chin.

Evans's limbs are stretched to their limits now, the bones creaking and popping under the immense pressure. His eyes roll back in his head, only the whites visible as the agony overwhelms him. But Konrad's cocktail of drugs keeps him from the relief of unconsciousness.

I crank the rack with a final, brutal turn and with a sickening series of cracks, Evans's shoulders and hips dislocate. He spasms, his body going rigid before collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Still with us?" I ask, slapping his face. Evans's eyelids flutter, unfocused pupils slowly tracking to me.

Derek steps up, a pair of rusty pliers in hand. He grabs Evans's jaw, forcing his mouth open, and wrenches out a tooth with a squelching pop. Evans gurgles, fresh blood pouring down his throat.

Derek holds up the bloody tooth. "One down. Thirty-one to go." The sound in the room is filled with the crack and crunch of teeth being ripped out aggressively.

Once the last molar is wrenched free, Derek tosses the pliers aside with a clatter. He grabs Evans's jaw, forcing his mouth open to survey his handiwork. Nothing remains but glistening, bloody gums and splintered remnants of bone.

"Not so pretty now, are you?" Derek sneers. "No more charming smiles to lure in innocent girls."

Evans can only wheeze in response, his breath rattling wetly in his chest. His face is a mask of agony, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Butcher steps forward next, a wicked-looking knife in hand. He grabs Evans's right hand, splaying the fingers out on the table.

"You touched her with these hands," Butcher growls, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. "Violated her, broke her. Now, I'm going to break you."

With a vicious chop, Butcher brings the knife down on Evans's pinkie finger, severing it cleanly at the knuckle. Evans's shriek is little more than a gurgling whine, his throat too raw to produce much sound.

Butcher works his way across the hand, methodically amputating each finger. Shards of bone protrude from the raw, bleeding stumps. When he's finished, he moves to the other hand, repeating the process.

Evans writhes weakly, his mutilated hands twitching and spasming. Tears and snot stream down his face, mixing with the blood.

Zach steps forward again, a pair of bolt cutters in his grip. He positions them over Evans's right foot, at the base of his small toe.

---