Page 51 of Twisted Vows

His eyes flash with hatred and he mumbles into the gag.

“Sorry, old pal. I’m not ready to listen to your shit yet.”

It’s a lie. I want nothing more than to hear him squeal, but rushing would only cheapen the experience.

I lift a rusty pair of pliers from the table and lean down so my eyes are level with his again.

“I have to make good on my promises, now don’t I?”

His pupils shrink. I smirk and rip all ten of his fingernails out, ignoring his jerking and flailing as I systematically complete the first task on my list. He retches behind the gag, but I don’t give a shit. I return to the table, toss the pliers down, and pick up the gardening shears.

When I turn back to him, he still glares at me, so I follow through with the vow I made before I left my brother in San Francisco.

I chop off all ten of his fingers with relative ease, the shears wicked sharp and the arms of the chair preventing him from closing his hands into fists. He screams and bucks. Blood spurts everywhere. I snarl in disgust and lift the shovel from the burn barrel a few paces behind him. His flesh sizzles as I press the heated metal to his stubs. The cauterization isn’t complete, but it’s enough to slow his bleeding and keep him alive for a few hours longer.

“I warned everyone what would happen if we saw each other again. You laughed, didn’t you?” I say as though it’s his fault we’re in this mess. With pain blurring his eyes and sweat dripping down his ashen face, he meets my stare and shakes his head.

I yank his boots and socks off his feet and grimace at his poor hygiene.

“You know, for all your big talk, you look like shit, Destin,” I goad.

He shakes his head harder. I sigh and fit the shears around his big toe.

“Have you murdered your way up the ranks yet, or did my brother offer you a place in hisnew endeavorto appease you?”

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t need one. Any answer he gives will only infuriate me further.

I close the shears. His severed toe rolls across the concrete. I repeat the process until I run out of little piggies to snip.

“You know I won’t stop cutting pieces off you for a long, long while, yeah?” I say as I yank the shovel out of the coals again.

I wait until he’s done screaming and gagging to continue.

“And there’s only one way to end this, so you’d better be ready to talk when I take off this gag, otherwise I might feel the need to getcreative.”

I drop the shovel into the burn barrel and pull the long, thin steel construction pin out from the fire. It glows as I wave it in front of his face.

“Capisci?”

Even as he nods his head, he glares at me.

Good. I can use defiance. I can’t use a blubbering, pathetic mess.

With a cold smirk, I run the tip of the pin over his cheek, less than an inch from his eye. His flesh sizzles. He jerks and curses into the gag.

I hook the handle of the pin back over the burn barrel and use the serrated knife from the table to cut the rope wrapped around the bottom half of his face. He leans to the side, spits out the garbage, and spews chunks all over his severed digits.

The stench would be unbearable if it didn’t mean I was one step closer to getting answers.

I slip the serrated knife into his collar and split his shirt down the front.

“You’re a long way from home, Destin. What the fuck are you doing in New York City?”

“Scouting,” he spits.

The thought of him targeting Mia for my brother’s sex trafficking ring is too much. I pinch his left nipple and slice it off, fury and disgust filling me with the need for more violence.

“Are you scouting the nurse or Narciso Vivaldi?” I snarl, but I sever his right nipple before he can respond. As blood oozes down his chest and pools in his lap, I retrieve the gardening shears and purposefully nick his hip as I cut his waistband.

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