Page 60 of Savage Obsession

I stand in front of the traitor, my sleeves rolled up, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. The man tied to the chair across from me shudders, his breathing ragged. His face is swollen, his bottom lip split open, and his left eye is so swollen shut that it’s a wonder he can still see me from the other.

I tilt my head, watching him, feeling the slow simmer of rage burn inside me.

Leon leans against a stack of crates, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but eyes sharp. "You gonna talk yet, or are we still playing?"

The traitor’s head sags forward, blood dripping from his nose onto his shirt. I step forward and grab a fistful of his greasy hair, yanking his head back so he has no choice but to meet my gaze. His pupils dilate in fear, the stench of it saturating the air.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time,” I say, my voice deadly quiet like the calm before the storm. “Who the fuck are you working for?”

The bastard coughs, then spits a glob of blood onto the floor between us. He chuckles weakly. “You think you scare me?” His voice is hoarse, trembling, but I catch the hint of defiance in it. “You’re just a spoiled little rich boy playing gangster.”

Leon lets out a low whistle. "Damn, he really doesn't know who he's dealing with, does he?"

I don’t smile. I never smile when it comes to things like this. Instead, I turn toward the table of tools laid out neatly—scalpels, pliers, blades, and…

A pair of rusty pruning shears.

I pick them up, testing the weight in my hand. They feel good. Efficient. Brutal.

The traitor’s breathing hitches. I see the moment his bravado cracks. He knows.

"You know," I say conversationally, "there are two types of pain. The kind that makes you talk. And the kind that makes you beg for death."

I twirl the shears between my fingers, letting the dim light catch the dull, jagged edges. Then, without hesitation, I clamp them down over his pinky finger and snap the blades shut.

The scream that rips through the room is unholy.

The man thrashes against the chair, his body convulsing as blood spurts onto the floor. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his head jerking side to side as he fights against the agony.

“I— I—swear I don’t know," he stammers, but I shush him with a finger to my lips, crouching to his level.

"Shh. I’m not finished yet."

I shift the shears to his next finger. His entire body tenses, sweat pouring down his face.

“Who,” I murmur, “are you working for?”

"I-I don’t— I—"

SNAP.

Another finger gone.

His scream turns hoarse, the pain stealing the air from his lungs. Tears stream down his bloodstained face.

Leon watches, unimpressed. "This is getting a little messy," he remarks. "You sure you don’t wanna just put a bullet in his head and call it a night?"

I ignore him, tilting my head at the sobbing wreck of a man in front of me. “You feel that?” I ask, my voice eerily calm. “That’s your body learning what happens when you fuck with me. We still have eight more fingers to go."

“I—” The man gasps, his entire body shaking violently. “Orestes! It was Orestes! He—he leaked the shipment details—”

My entire body stills. My grip on the shears tightens.

"Orestes," I repeat slowly.

"Yes! Yes!" The man nods frantically, tears mixing with blood. "He—he—he wanted—he said destroying the shipment would seal your fate! I swear, I swear on my life—”

I let out a breath through my nose. Slowly, I rise to my feet, towering over him.

---