Page 44 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

As he screams into my face, it brings me to my senses. I can’t die. Not while Duke’s still alive. I’ve vowed to kill the man, to make him suffer just like he made Saffie. It’s the last thing I can do for her. Spurred into action, I jerk my head back, smashing it forward hard to connect with his nose. Knife yelps and leaps back, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood.

“You’re fucking dead, nigger!” he shouts.

I want to laugh. He thinks that’s news?

With his nose misshapen and swollen, his watering eyes grow dark. “Get him out of his clothes.”

His men leap to follow his command, but they don’t untie me. No, they use their sharp knives, some accidentally on-purpose slipping and cutting, making my skin slippery with my own blood. I’m roughly handled, pushed, pulled and shoved until finally I’m as naked as the day I was born.

Knife’s eyes go to my groin, and he starts to laugh. “See? It’s all rumours. Even mine’s longer than his.”

My cock, quite sensibly, is particularly shrunken today. And while it’s the current focus of jeering and comments, as long as the abuse is verbal, it doesn’t matter to me. In the scheme of things, sitting with my parts on display is nothing. And I’m a grower, not a shower, but I don’t point that out.

I straighten my shoulders and try to ignore them.

“Get that thing off of him.”

My prosthesis is ripped away, and not particularly carefully. I wince when someone stomps on it, shattering the cup, but I don’t give my feelings away.

My silence and lack of reaction annoys them. Knife looks at me for a moment, then nods to someone behind me. After that, he steps closer, but learning from before, unfortunately not close enough. “I think you’re a man who likes to know what he’s up against. So I’m going to tell you exactly how this is going to go down. You killed our sergeant-at-arms, and for that you’ve earned a death sentence. But you’re not going to go easily.” He accompanies his words with a punch to my face.

My head reels back. Recovering fast, I just stare at him. What does he think I expect? They’re hardly going to pat me on the back and offer me a cup of coffee. They’re going to hurt me. I knew that from the moment I was caught. Knowing what’s coming can’t make it worse, can it?

Knife chuckles. “You see? We’re going to break every bone in your body. Every single fucking bone until you’re just like fuckin’ Humpty Dumpty, and no one’s ever going to be able to put you together again.”

“He’ll flop like a fuckin’ fish.”

“Here, fishy fishy.”

Knife waves his hand to get the bikers around him to shut up, as he continues his mental torture. “But we ain’t going to do it fast. We’re going to take our time. Every single bone you’ll feel break. How many bones in the human body, Weasel?”

“Two hundred and six. But that includes thirty-three or so in the spine. I suggest we break that as one, and leave that to last, else he won’t feel the pain.”

“Yeah, we can start small and lead up to it. You ready, little fishy?”

“Can we have a go at him first?” Slinger asks, almost petulantly.

Knife snorts and waves him forward. I’m pummelled, kicked, and generally used as a punching bag for a few moments, until Knife calls a halt, stressing he wants me conscious.

A man emerges into my line of sight, and despite my resolve I can take anything they throw at me, I shudder internally at the wooden block he’s holding, and the sledgehammer and various other implements he has tucked under his arm.

Knife sees I’ve noticed and grins with delight, then his eyebrows knit together and he snarls, “Each blow will be retribution for Slit, you hear me?”

Without further ado, he jerks his head, and two men step forward, taking my one remaining flesh and blood foot. I try to rip it away, but it’s tied too tightly, and all I can do is scrunch my toes.

It doesn’t help. The block is quickly positioned under it, and a hammer falls without further ado.

Christ that hurts.I swallow my scream as my big toe is shattered. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! The pain from stubbing your toe always seems out of proportion to the injury itself, and this is a hundred times worse.

But it’s not pain I’m afraid of. My main fear is the damage they’ll do to that appendage that’s so vital to me. Unless they leave something to repair, I’ll be totally crippled.

It won’t matter. They’re not going to let me live anyway.

I hold it for the second and third toes, the additional agony of the fourth and fifth don’t add much more to the pain blasting its way up through my foot. Just when I think it can’t get much worse, they swap the hammer for the mallet, and giving up on finesse, bring it down my metatarsals, crushing them all at once. This time I can’t hold back the exclamation which serves nothing but to get them excited.

The unnamed man wielding the mallet gets over-excited and strikes my shin. I hear my bones shatter.

“What the hell was that, Spike?” Knife admonishes him. “It was his ankle next.”

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