I cut him off in mid-threat of putting my balls in a blender and how he would feed them to Blake when she was starving. That—that made me pause because I wasn’t sure if I was mad at that threat or impressed. I considered it and decided that if he did do that, he would have Blake to fear once she found out. I was going to add that threat to his already mountain of debt.
“Walden, shut up. I’m here to tell you things, things you need to know before we finish.”
He drew quiet, coughing more blood.
My men had done more damage than I thought before I got here.
Others would wince at how he looked.
Not me. He looked like a masterpiece. He was bloodied, with different bodily liquids sticking to him. Bruises were coloring all over him. They were fresh, but the speed of how they were appearing promised me how beautiful he’d look by the end of our session together.
“What are you talking about?” he rasped out, more blood being coughed up, then trickling out of his mouth.
“You haven’t asked the basic question every captive asks.”
He frowned before giving that question thought. “Why the fuck am I here?”
I smiled. “See. Was that so hard?”
He looked at me as if I suddenly turned purple in front of him. “I’m here because you’re a piece of shi—”
I held up a hand, stopping him. “I apologize.” I motioned between him and me. “Normally I would enjoy the back-and-forth. That’s part of this dance we do. I’m sure you’d agree.” I grew serious again, letting a little of my mask slip. The one I wore so others only saw my dead eyes and didn’t see the real monster I could be. But we were having a moment, and if you couldn’t be yourself when you were torturing or being tortured, then when could you be yourself? Really?
His eyes widened, and a deeper emotion flared in his eyes. Fear. I inclined my head and lowered my voice. “I had you kidnapped because ...” I raised my knife again. “You see, Ashton, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Yes, yes.” I reached up and began using the knife to cut at the ropes he had holding him up. The ropes were thick, and the knife was dull, which was on purpose, so it would take time. I talked as I cut. “I enjoy fighting. I enjoy this whole thing we’re doing. You, me, your best friend. I like matching wits against wits. You see, I operate under a specific set of rules. Do you want to find out what they are?” I paused in my cutting to see if he was starting to understand.
Sweat rolled down his face. His one eye was dilated, and the side of his mouth was pulled back, as if in a perpetual grimace. That could’ve been from my jostling. He was probably in a lot of pain.
I liked pain. I also liked pleasure. Torture and sex. Now those emotions, I could feel.
“I mentioned your fiancée for a reason.” I cut through the last bit of rope andsnap. He went down like a sack of potatoes.
He tried to rally against the pain and began to crawl away.
That was funny to watch, to think he had a chance.
I moved forward and put my foot down on his hand.
He screamed, his entire body coming alive. He tried swinging on me, but I was ready and merely brought my knife down so he impaled himself on it. Another guttural scream strangled from him.
I liked hearing that sound.
I could say that I hadn’t stabbed him. Technically he stabbed himself.
I left the knife in his hand, because if he tore it out, I’d let him use it against me. He would’ve earned that. That’s another reason why it was dull, though. In case it was used against me. The other reason: the duller it was, the more work it took to wreak havoc. Win-win-win as far as I was concerned.
I squatted in front of him.
His chest was taking in deep breaths, rising and falling. And he was calculating. I had no doubt he was making more promises in his head, what he’d do to hurt me.
“Ask me again why you’re here, Ashton.” I said it softly, almost tenderly.
He cringed against that sound from me. “Why am I here, you fucking psychopath?” He spat out those words.
I heaved out a sigh because he’d listen now. We were finally getting somewhere. “Normally, I would just slit your throat and be done with you, but we’re in a rather delicate situation here. Aren’t we?”
I pushed him back down, putting my foot on his throat this time. He could swing on me. I was letting his good hand free. If he did, I had another plan on how he could hurt himself. Ashton remained lying there under my foot. He didn’t swing on me again.
He was learning. Good boy.
