Page 77 of Madness & Mercy
“Fuck you.”
I smile.
Wrong answer.
I grab the edge of the table and slam it forward into his shins. The crack of bone isn’t loud, but the scream is.
“You shot a man who belongs to me,” I say evenly. “That means you didn’t just fire a bullet. You declared war.”
“I didn’t know he was yours,” he grunts.
“You didn’t ask either.” I crouch in front of him, eye to eye now. “So now,Iget to ask the questions. Andyouget to answer. Or bleed. Your choice.”
He stays quiet. That same smug smile.
I nod once.
“Luca.”
Luca opens the cabinet and pulls out the case we only use when we want people to remember what pain feels like. Inside are knives, gloves, zip ties, and a roll of surgical gauze that never ends up getting used.
I slide the knife from my belt. A short, curved thing.
“Last chance,” I say, brushing the blade under his chin. “Who sent you?”
He flinches but still stays quiet.
And that’s fine.
Because I’ve got nothing but time.
And plenty of rage to spare.
The cement floor is slick with sweat, piss, and blood. I haven’t even asked the real questions yet.
By now, he’s probably thinking the pain gets easier after the first hit.
He’s wrong about that.
“Last chance,” I say, rolling up my sleeves to the elbows. My shirt’s soaked through, hands stained red. “Tell me who sent you.”
He just breathes hard. Spits blood at the floor near my shoe.
So I kneel.
And I grab his hand, shaking, twitching, still scraped raw from the zip ties.
“Index first,” I mutter, more to myself than him. I don’t need a reply. Just a grip. Just the right angle.
Snap.
The sound is sharp and final as the finger severs and falls to the floor
He lets out a strangled scream that turns into a cough. “FUCK—!”
I line his middle finger up with the pliers. “Two left.”
“I’m not talking,” he grits. “You’re wasting your time.”
