Page 71 of Rage

He is not going to leave here alive.

“You still haven’t given us any information about your son,” I point out, and his eyes barely drift open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

I let out a dark laugh.“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I run the blade lightly across his slacks, watching him flinch as the fabric is effortlessly sliced in two.“Let me show you what I’m capable of.”I chuckle darkly.“Shall we start with your pretty little pinkies?”

I grab a pair of wire cutters, sharp and easily able to cut through bone.I lift his pinkie finger and slide it between the snips.

He screams, thrashing himself and trying to back away from the device, but he’s tied down and there’s no escaping.

“W-wait!All right!All right, I’ll talk!”

“Talk fast.Where is your son hiding, and what does he have planned for Meadow?”

Peterson’s father swallows hard.“I-I don’t know where he is,” he stutters, fear clear in his voice.“He… he doesn’t tell me anything.”

I press the clamp down on his finger, bones splitting as the pressure increases.A high-pitched scream echoes off the walls and I do it slowly, cutting off his finger.It makes a clicking sound as it cuts through.

He screams at the top of his lungs, his eyes rolling back in his head, but I smack him in the face to stop him from going into shock.

“You have nine more fingers,” I point out to him with his right pinkie finger, which I have in my hand.

Liam’s face is a mask of cold rage as I move to the next finger.“Talk.”

“I don’t know!”he wails.“I swear to God, I don’t?—”

The crack of my father’s fist connecting with his jaw silences him.Teeth clatter to the concrete floor.Dad flexes his fingers, brass knuckles gleaming dully.

“Try again,” he rumbles, voice low and dangerous.

Peterson’s father sags in his restraints, blood and saliva dripping from his ruined mouth.His eyes dart between us, wild with terror.I can almost see the moment he breaks.

You know the moment when someone realizes their life is over?He just had it.

All hope is lost and it’s the best feeling knowing you’ve broken them.

“The old cannery,” he whimpers.“On the edge of town.There’s… there’s a hidden room in the basement.”

Lane nods, satisfaction etched on his face.“Good boy.Now, tell us about this ‘grand plan’ of his.”

Our prisoner swallows hard, wincing at the pain.“He… he’s obsessed with her.Meadow.Talks about making her pay, making an example of her.He is not used to not getting what he wants.”

Red bleeds into the edges of my vision.My grip on the knife tightens, knuckles white with restrained fury.“How?”I demand, voice barely human.

Peterson’s father flinches at my tone.“I don’t know the details,” he stammers.“But he mentioned other women.Nurses, patients.Said he was going to show the world what happens when people cross him.”

Bile rises in my throat.The image of Meadow, of innocent women, at the mercy of that psychopath, it’s almost more than I can bear.I want to carve the truth from this bastard’s flesh.

Lane’s hand on my shoulder steadies me.His eyes, when I meet them, are hard as flint.“We’ve got what we need,” he says quietly.“Time to clean up and move out.”

I nod, forcing myself to breathe.To focus.Meadow needs me clearheaded, not lost in a haze of bloodlust.

As we gather our tools, Peterson’s father whimpers pathetically.“What… what are you going to do with me?”

Dad’s laugh is cold and humorless.“Oh, we’re not done with you yet, asshole.You’re going to help us send a message to your boy.”

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