Page 9 of Destroyer

PaulNormanisonthe final day of my new Gavriil-free interrogation. People don't look at me the same now. I'm not as scary without the two-metre-tall mountain behind me. But I can still be intimidating and effective. For the past two weeks, I've skinned all of Paul's pet cats and left them stapled to his door with a message telling him I'm coming. By the time he realised it was me, he was already so shit scared, it didn't matter who I was. Now he is hanging naked above my propane canister. He's had to part his legs either side of the flaming canister, struggling to keep his body still when only his toes touch the ground at that distance. He's tried bringing them closer, his inner legs are already red and blistered from the heat when he moves.

"Please, Nico, we're in the same family," he begs. “We're the nobodies, the two of us. Just trying to survive.”

"You can survive. One answer and all is over." I sit on the floor using my head torch as the only other light source in the room. It's set on a high beam so every time he looks at me, it hurts his eyes. Rapidly moving away has him struggling to keep his position. His dick wiggles over the flames, and I've already told him it's coming off in five minutes if he hasn't told me what I want to know.

“I know life is hard for you. Without Gavriil you feel you have something to prove.”

Wonderful, he's reached the relating part, where he desperately tries to appeal to what Gavriil called our better nature. He means compassion, hoping for pity or mercy. I have no use for those emotions when I'm paid to do a job.

"The time it is now up." I lift the knife and stand.

"No, please, no." His body starts shaking violently, legs dancing over the flame cast intriguing shadows across the freshly painted walls. "I'll tell you."

I've played this game for long enough to know his words are a false promise. If he was going to tell me, I'd know what I wanted to hear already.

My knife doesn't stop moving towards his dick. The stab isn't going to be pretty; I'm not touching his genitals, just stab at him and draw out the event with a few near misses. It's all part of the game. Each thrust brings him a small slice of pain, but it's his eyes glancing down to check for blood that has him swinging dangerously on his toes. His eyes fill with panic, widening as he finally realises he is going to become my first solo victim.

"You are wrong," I whisper. "Already there is three in extra house foundation."

Our game is cut short as the floorboards creak outside the door.

I spin quickly, ignoring the sigh of relief from Paul, but neither of us are expecting Caeo to walk in.

"Nico!" Caeo's voice falters at my name. I've tortured many men in my past, with and without his knowledge, but I've never disappointed him before. The look in his eyes will haunt me forever.

"You ran away from Gregory," he announces.

"He wanted me to phone my grandfather. I have enough daddies telling me now where to go and what to do."

My eyes meet his, daring him to fix on me, rather than the dying man behind me. This isn’t about torturing a family member; this is about walking out on Gregory. All that hurt on his face has nothing to do with my nighttime activities. It doesn't seem right.

"Gregory, help Mr Newman and call the doctor."

Gregory?

The man in question enters the bedroom and my throat thickens.

"Jesus Nico," he gasps as his eyes fix on Paul and widen. Paul even dares to beg these two men for help.

"Snitch," I reply. My eyes move back to Caeo. "Not be getting the doctor. Michael does not deal with this injury kind."

"Nico, who told you to do this?"

I hate keeping secrets from Caeo, but I can't answer him. I am not clever enough to deal with this situation. I don't understand his anger. After chewing on my lip for a moment, I do the only thing I know how to do. I run.

Caeo chases, clearly knowing there is a way out from the bathroom up here.

His hand touches my shoulder and my eyes closed as his arms wrap me up.

The heat of the room closes in on me; the copper smell of blood magnifies with the scent of burnt flesh.

The gun went off, the smell of blood was all around.

Gavriil was dying. There was death in the air, I could smell it, taste it. Gavriil was going to die, and he needed my help.

The arm around my chest was tight, the hand over my mouth stopped my screams and my breath.

I thrash in the grip around me. It's tight and I can't twist free. Clawing at the hand suffocating my mouth isn't working so I raise my hands to his face. We fall back, and I land heavily on him, kicking and gouging, and fighting for my life. Another man arrives. Legs wrap over mine, pinning them down, more hands grab my arms.

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