It will be as if he never stepped foot in Mayhem.
Not even his fucking ghost will want to haunt us.
When we reach our destination, Wraith parks the Jeep behind the abandoned mill. Last time we were here, Wraith spazzed when we had to teach a Berserker what happens when you talk smack about the Unholy after catching a rightful beating from us. He nearly killed Axel. The Berserker walked away, but barely. Wraith pulled himself back from the edge and hasn’t lost his shit since. But I’ll be honest. It was painful to see my best friend as the monster he had to become to survive Gomorrah.
I jump down from the Jeep and grab the mercenary from the backseat. When he doesn’t fight me, I can’t help but get all sorts of suspicious about his behavior. A normal person in his situation would fight for his life. Not him. It’s as if he expected to get caught. Like he’s accepted his status as a sacrificial lamb.
“What’s your deal, asshole?” I snarl in his face.
Wraith, who is walking in front of us carrying the duffel bag of torture tools, skids to a halt and whirls around. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything about him is what’s wrong.” I give the guy a violent shake. “Why isn’t he begging us not to kill him?”
“Because he’s too stupid to realize what we’re going to do to him.”
The guy turns his head and smirks at Wraith. “We all die. I choose to go out with dignity.”
Wraith stalks over to us with his eyes narrowed and his scarred fists at his side. “I can promise you one thing, my man. Wewillcure you of your arrogance. You can be sure of that fact.”
Wraith spins on the heel of his black boot and strides into the mill. The shadows swallow him as I follow with our captive. When we’re inside, I fling him on the chair screwed down to the cement floor.
It’s dark and dank, and when Wraith flicks on the few camping lanterns, harsh white light fills the cavernous space.
“You want first dibs?” Wraith motions to our captive.
“Come on now, Wraith, you need to ask?” I step up to the mercenary and grab him by the front of his shaggy blonde hair.
“Feel free to cry, beg, piss yourself. Whatever. We won’t stop, but we appreciate all forms of encouragement.”
“Fuck you,” the guy grits out between clenched teeth.
“That’s not nice.” I tsk because a person should never leave their manners at home. A jab to the mouth draws first blood. The firm grip I have on his hair prevents his head from snapping back. “Apologize.”
“Eat shit.”
“Did he insult my cooking?” I throw the question at Wraith from over my shoulder. “Because I feel like that was a dig at how I cook.”
Wraith shoves me out of the way and snatches the guy by the front of his blue Polo shirt. “Nothing the dead says matters, Jester, you know this.”
The statement gets us the first genuine reaction out of the guy. He blinks up at me, and the briefest flicker of surprise crosses his face. “You’re Jester?”
“You’ve heard of me?” I look to Wraith, flattered as I clutch my chest. “He’s heard of me. I’m famous.”
“You’re an asshole,” he growls.
“Yep, he’s heard of you,” Wraith cracks. Then, “Change of plan. I want to hurt him first.”
I fling up my hands in frustration. “That’s not fair.”
Wraith’s ‘mean face’ is terrifying, and the dealer wisely presses himself against the back of the chair when Wraith reaches for him. “You make too much of a mess to go first.”
“Me?” I demand, outraged. “You practically caved in the last guy’s skull.”
The guy’s gaze shifts between Wraith and me. “If you’re trying to scare me into giving up my supplier’s name, you’re wasting your time.”
“Good, because we’re not.” Wraith hauls him out of the chair. “Talk time is over.”
Wraith shakes him hard enough to rattle his brain before literally tossing him halfway across the mill. He’s in pure predator mode, playing with his prey as he trails after him.
