Page 19 of The Devils Melody
Frankie’s whole body trembles, his eyes growing wide with pain and panic, but he nods in understanding. His hands move to grip Nox’s wrist, but the moment he tries to move, Nox twists the blade just enough to make him jolt in agony.
“Ah, ah, ah. Be a good boy,” Nox murmurs, voice like silk. “Now, let's talk.”
Nox doesn’t pull the knife out. He keeps it buried deep, a slow, seeping wound that won’t kill Frankie, but will keephim compliant. His grip stays firm over the bastard's mouth, pressing just hard enough to cut off any chance of a scream.
I settle into the seat in front of them, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, watching the way Frankie’s face contorts in agony. He’s trying to hold it together, but I see the way his fingers twitch, the way sweat beads along his hairline. It’s the way he’s trying to hold back, his eyes bulging out of his head as he desperately tries to breathe from his nose is what does it for me. There’s a sick, fucked up pleasure in watching a man squirm like that. As if he knows, deep down, that he’s already fucking lost, and it only gets worse the longer he fights it.
“You know,” I muse, keeping my voice low, “Our boss told us not to let you out of our sight. That means we only have a couple of options here.” I tilt my head, studying the fucker like he’s some kind of bug under my boot. “One,” I hold up a finger, “you come with us quietly, and we all pretend this is just a friendly little meeting.”
Frankie’s nostrils flare, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Nox gives the knife a slight nudge and he jerks again, his entire body locking up in pain, and I can’t help the devious grin on my face. I can practically feel the warmth in his fear. Taste it in the sharp, metallic scent of blood that slowly trickles down his leg. It’s fucking intoxicating.
“Or two,” I continue, holding up a second finger, “you make this difficult. And I promise you, Frankie, that will be the last bad decision youevermake.”
I look down at the knife that’s embedded into Frankie’s leg, my hand itching to make it worse. To be the one twisting the knife deeper, pressing just a little bit harder, and really listen to him beg. But it wouldn’t be any fundoing it here. Nah, I want to prolong this. I want to let himfeelevery second of pain I’m going to inflict onto him, because he fucking deserves it.
Torture has always been my thing. Not just the killing, the blood, and the body count, but the agony before it. Watching a man's hope break down, seeing his spirit unravel piece by piece, and knowing you’re the one doing it. It’s a high like nothing else.
Frankie’s breath comes quicker now, shallow and desperate. His eyes dart from Nox to me, hoping one of us will show him mercy. Too bad for him, there’s none to be had.
Nox leans in, his voice low and threatening. “Now, I’m going to remove my knife from your thigh. Scream, and I’ll make sure it’s the last sound you ever make, too.”
I catch Frankie’s gaze, my lips curling into a grin that’s pure dark satisfaction. He can’t even lift a finger, too terrified of what we’ll do if he tries. Similar to watching an animal caught in a trap, unable to escape knowing it’s life is over.
In one swift movement, Nox pulls the blade out of Frankie’s thigh, blood instantly gushing out of the wound like a river of crimson. Frankie’s eyes squeeze shut, his breathing becoming heavier beneath Nox’s hand. The veins in his neck bulge, his chest heaving in a frantic rhythm as he fights the instinct to scream. Nox wipes the blade clean against Frankie’s pant leg as if he’s nothing more than a human rag.
“Good boy.” I mutter, standing up slowly, giving him one last look of disgust. I want him to see that I enjoy this. The fear in his eyes as his mind drifts to what our next move will be, the control we have over his life, and the power we have to break him at will, it’s like a drug, and Ineed more of it. But there’s no time to savor it, not yet at least. Not until the job is done.
I look over at Nox, who’s still wearing that smug grin, his hand still firmly on Frankie’s mouth, the other now grabbing his collar. “Let's go.”
Nox pulls his hand off of Frankie’s mouth, and Frankie lets out a sharp, broken breath. The pathetic sack of shit that he is cries silently, and it just makes this all a little sweeter.
Heading for the door, I can’t stop the thrill that courses through me. The flashing lights do nothing to hide the blood dripping from Frankie’s leg as Nox pulls him forward by the collar, his grip tight enough to keep the man moving, but not enough to completely break his composure. Frankie’s limp is unmistakable, each step leaving a smear of red on the floor beneath him.
“We don't have all night,” Nox mutters, his voice low and unbothered. He's always been the calm one, even in the middle of chaos. “You might want to pick up the pace.”
Frankie huffs in pain, his free hand gripping his thigh where the blood’s pouring out. His face is pale, and I can see the panic in his eyes. I stay a step behind them, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. I’m enjoying this, maybe too much.
We step into the alley behind the club, the stench of garbage and stale beer hanging thick in the air. Nox shoves Frankie forward just a little harder, his hand tightening on his collar like a vice. He leans in, his voice dripping with venom, low enough that only Frankie and I can hear.
“You make me fucking sick, you know that? The way you put your hands on those girls as if they’re nothing more than your little play things, simply existing to be used by pathetic pieces of shit like you.” Nox gives a sharp yank,making Frankie stumble. “You reek of desperation, Frankie. You’re just a man who knows that deep down he’s nothing, so he takes and takes, hoping no one will notice how fucking worthless he really is.”
Frankie’s eyes dart to Nox, his chest heaving. “Fuck you…you have no idea who?—”
Nox cuts him off, pulling harder on the collar of his suit jacket, making Frankie stumble and choke on his words. “I don’t give asingle fuckwho you think you are.” He spits, his voice laced with pure malice. “You’re nothing but rotting meat waiting to be carved open. A dead man, too dumb to realize he’s already in the ground.”
Nox pushes him forward, and I watch as that last shred of Frankie’s hope crumbles. The arrogance that had been plastered on his face earlier is long gone, replaced with the raw, desperate fear of a man who knows his time is running out.
We finally reach the SUV, the one we use specifically for these kinds of jobs. It’s black, nondescript, the perfect vehicle for taking sick motherfuckers on their last ride. The tinted windows are perfect for concealing the nefarious things happening in the backseat. Tied up bodies, fun little tools used for torture, and a few odds and ends that help cover our tracks.
Frankie’s legs buckle, the pain in his leg causing him to collapse against the car. He hisses in pain, but he doesn’t try to fight it. There’s no fight left in him. I curl my fingers around the back on his neck and slam him into the backseat of the SUV, pushing hard enough that his head connects with the doorframe, making him wince.
“Sit the fuck down.” I growl, my voice rough, low, and commanding. He doesn’t have the strength to argue as he shifts into his seat, trying not to put pressure on his leg. Islide in next to him, not caring that he’s slowly bleeding out all over the seat. There’s enough space between us, but the strong coppery tang is still strong in the air as his blood continues to pool to the floorboard.
Nox doesn’t even look back as he starts the engine. His fingers drum lightly on the wheel, a small sign of his own anticipation. His eyes flick to the rearview mirror, catching mine with that smirk. He knows what I’m about to do, and he’s just as eager as I am. There’s just something about torturing a man together that gets us hard as fuck. Seeing Nox torturing men, watching as their blood splatters across his face as he slices a mans throat, their blood pooling beneath them, it’s something that makes me want to drop my pants and let him fuck me in it.
Frankie’s breathing comes in ragged gasps now, the blood from his leg staining the seat beneath him. But it’s his wide eyes, darting around in pure terror, that gets me the hardest before the physical torture. That fear? It’s what makes the whole fucking thing that much sweeter. Thinking about all the vile things I plan to do to Frankie has me so fucking turned on, all I can think about is getting off.
I pull my phone out from my pocket, my thumb swiping across the screen to the tracking app I’ve installed on my phone without even thinking. My little bird is still at work, right where she belongs, for now. That small flicker of relief settles in my chest knowing she’s safe and I can let the darkness inside me come alive. Frankie’s no longer a man. He’s just a broken, bleeding corpse waiting to be put out of its misery
