Page 18 of No Mercy In Red

His gaze snapped to mine as if he was just now realising that I was here, and I saw the moment the fear turned to rage. Always the same, these men, still believing they held power, even bound to a chair in a basement. Fools.

His face twisted. “You fucking cunt!” He spat, yanking at the binds, chest heaving, his muscles straining at the effort.

I let him try. It was always amusing to watch them when they thought they had a chance, that they thought they were stronger than the restraints. But of course, he wasn’t. I took my time selecting from the selection of blades from the workbench whilst he spat profanities at me. I picked up a thin, sharp scalpel. Small enough to be delicate, precise. I turned it in my fingers, letting the overhead light gleam off the edge. Chris’s body stiffened, he knew what was coming.

“You drugged Rachel,” I said, running the blade along the curve of his jaw. Not cutting yet, just... teasing.

“She was a whore,” he spat, “She wanted it.”

I sliced, a thin, long line from his cheekbone to his jaw. He hissed, the first cut was always shallow, just enough to let the sting settle in.

“Try again.” I sneered.

His teeth clenched. Blood beaded along his face as his fingers curled against the binds.

“I never—”

I pressed the scalpel to his collarbone this time, pressing harder. This cut was deep, the sound of flesh splitting filled the room. His words turned into a sharp inhale, his body jerking against the chair.

I titled my head, “Lying to me is just going to make this so much worse for you, Chris.”

He glared, but his breathing changed. The first shift, the moment he understood there was no way out of this, the moment he realised I wasn’t bluffing. The scalpel was too clean, too quick, so I set it aside and reached for the pliers. He watched, his pupils blown wide. He started talking fast, trying to bargain his way out.

“I can pay you.” His voice was hoarse, shaky. “You want money? I have money, just name your price.”

I crouched in front of him, gripping his left hand. The veins in his fingers pulsed wildly beneath his skin.

“I don’t want your money, Chris.” I pried his index finger from the armrest, forcing it straight, “I want your confessions.”

His chest heaved as his finger twitched against the cold metal. His hands had grown clammy with anxiety? Fear? I didn’t care.

“I didn’t—”

I clamped the pliers around the edge of his fingernail, staring into his eyes as I pulled, the sickening wet rip filling the air, followed by his ear-piercing scream. Blood welled instantly, pooling around the exposed nail bed, dripping down his finger, passed the restrains, then falling onto the floor with a barely audible splash. His breath shuddered, his entire body beginning to shake in the chair. I held the fingernail in front of his face for him to see, forcing him to look at it before throwing it onto the ground between us.

“You have raped women, several of them. Drugged. Abused.” I said, my tone even, emotionless.

He sobbed, his body wrecked with pain. I pried another finger from his grip on the chair as his chest heaved, a wicked grin spreading across my face.

“Okay – OKAY! I did it!” He yelled.

His voice broke, a quiver to it that only comes when they’re so broken they have no choice but to do anything that they can to make the torture end, and I laughed. That was fast. I set the pliers aside, and moved over to a metal lighter, my fingers flicking it open with a soft click. Chris groaned, barely able to lift his head. He was losing a lot of blood now, especially from the gash on his chest. He was soaked in sweat, his fingers twitching uncontrollably whilst his body was slumped forward in the chair, barely holding on to his pathetic existence from the blood loss. I brought the lighter over, alongside a pair of scissors and began cutting away his pants, throwing the shreds to the side.

His eyes snapped open. “What the f—”

I lit the flame and pressed it directly to his crotch. His wail ripped through the basement, the acrid scent of burning pubic hair and skin filled the air. He bucked, thrashing violently, howling, his body slamming against the chair so hard the leather straps strained. Tears poured down his face, his screams grew raw, almost animalistic. I held the flame a little longer than necessary whilst his body shook uncontrollably. I held it there whilst his sobs turned into ragged, broken whimpers, watching his pride, his arrogance, his control, wash away down the drain with his blood. I moved away, watching him as he barely held onto consciousness. It was time. I flicked the phone onto record and pointed it at him. I needed to get the confession recorded before I could finish this, and by the looks of him, it wasn’t going to be much longer before he embraced the fiery embers of hell.

“Say it,” I whispered. “Look at me and fucking say everything you did Chris.”

His entire body shuddered with the effort it took for him to raise his head and look at me.

“I—I hurt them,” he croaked. “I drugged them. I raped them.”

“And, what do you have to say to all of those women?”

His lips trembled. “I’m sorry. I’m—I swear, I—”

“One more thing,” I said, “What happened to your ex-girlfriend?”

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