Page 106 of Devotion

He is lean, tall.

Instead of his leather moto outfit, he’s dressed in a long sleeve black turtleneck shirt. Slacks. Gloves. All very stylish and fitted to his figure. The mask is the same though, covering his face and part of his head, revealing only his jet-black hair.

“You are as strong as they say.”

“Who says?”

“Rumors. I have never met a Bratva before.” His thoughts seem disjointed. His words even more so, like he speaks his thoughts without realizing it.

He circles the room, his footsteps completely silent.

“Clearly. You are still alive.” Does this mean they really do not have my uncle?

“So would your people, if things had gone according to plan.”

I can’t tell if he is misleading me, trying to get me to reveal something. Most of his statements seem innocuous, unplanned.

We sit in silence for a time, the shadow leaning on the wall behind me, my eyes focused on a stone on the wall ahead of me. If he will not speak, I will not.

“His name. Last time.” His tone tells me that he will begin the real torture next. So I must find my center. Latch onto my anchor.

“Shakal,” I finally say, the image of my lover, my warrior, locking into place.

“Hm.”

“Shakal.”

“When he sees what I’ve done to you, he will break.”

“Shakal does not break.”

“We will see.”

Hours. The cell grows colder. Men bring in a box, leaving it by the door. I do not open it.

Mask strides in a bit later. He abruptly snatches my hand.

And breaks my pinky finger.

Agony ricochets up my arm, through my head. My breath comes in heaving gasps through my nose as I grit my teeth.

Then he sets my finger, rests my hand on the arm of the chair. Where he proceeds to strap me down. I start to struggle, until he breaks my other pinky, setting it and returning my arm to the rest.

He is setting rules. Boundaries.

In the flood of pain, I cannot move enough to resist him belting my ankles. He takes his time opening the box, his back to me.

When he turns, I see the reason for the straps.

Wires. Two thick cords leading to prongs resting on the floor, the other red and black disappearing under the door.

The show is as much a part of the endeavor. But I do not need it.

I have been electrocuted before.

A shudder quakes through me, forcing me to close my eyes. He fits a strap between my teeth.

When the current hits my arms, it feels like someone hit me with a car.

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