I wrapped my hand around her throat and shoved her back until she was balanced on the back two legs of her chair, instinctive panic filling her eyes before they hardened again, her breathing labored, her pulse racing under my fingers as I squeezed. “You think writing those books makes you an expert?”
She only glared.
“There are plenty of ways I can shatter your mind withoutbreaking your skin.”
Her eyes narrowed.“Do it then,”they seemed to say.
I bared my teeth at her and jerked her back to four legs, releasing her neck and rejoining the bench as I slid the lighter into my pocket. I looked over the tools and settled on the bucket of ice at the end of the table.
I pulled out two good pieces and walked over to her, crouching down at her feet. “Do you know what these are?”
She remained silent.
“Ice cubes,” I told her, sliding one under the center of each of her bare feet. “And in the center of them are tacks. Special tacks,” I explained, finding her eyes as I stood. “Made with needle thin razorblades, two inches long. But don’t worry, they won’t slide in too fast, the ice has to melt around them first.” They would make her bleed, but the cuts they left would blend in with the lines of her feet. Not enough to prove anything to the police.
Her eyes narrowed again.
“Steven can’t pay his own debt, so that leaves you, Olivia. Settle it or you both die.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching me carefully. Not a care in the world.
I felt a smile touch my lips when she remained unmoving. “I gave you a glass filled with laxatives too. So, if you start feeling some cramping, just know it’s too late to find a bathroom.” A partial lie. I didn’t give her any laxatives. I did that once and it had been horrible for everyone involved. It would never happen again.
Her eyes widened for half a second before she moved her hips slightly and settled deeper into her chair, preparing herself for the worst.
I watched her for a long time before grabbing my knees in my hands and meeting her eyes evenly. “I’ll kill your fucking dog ifyou don’t give me the money.” I drew the line at animals, I had to be honest.
And light filled her eyes at that, a sound escaping her throat as if she might be…laughing.
Was she laughing?
I snarled and straightened. I stalked behind her and ripped the gag off, tossing it to the side.
She coughed and slurped, trying her best to clean up the gallons of spit that now coated her lips and chin.
I walked around to face her. “You want me to kill your dog?”
“Evidence,” she stated coldly, her voice slightly hoarse, causing my eyes to narrow to slits. “You can’t leave evidence. That’s why you’re scrambling. It’s sad, really. Pathetic some might say.”
Rage erupted under my skin. “I can make you and your damn dog disappear,” I threatened coldly.
She scoffed. “You want to let me go without any scars so that when I run to the police or I tell Steven, there will be no evidence. It’ll drive me to madness and then later, you’ll come in and make it look like a suicide with a will that states that I’ll leave all of my money to some unknown charity or something. Make it look like the runaway daughter of the Lemont’s went insane and ended it all when she realized blah, blah, blah. I’m a writer, you absolute shit-stain. I’ve written out dozens of scenarios just like this. In fact,” she hummed, taking me in slowly before finding my eyes again. “You’ve obviously done your research because I amsureI wrote out a scene just like this in my second book.”
I pulled out the lighter and grabbed her jaw, jerking it to one side and held the fire against her skin.. “Writing about it and living it out are two separate things.” The scene had been pretty close to this, yes, but torture was an art, just like writing was. Every session could be completely different, but there were somethings that could never change.
A secluded place, tools, and two people.
She tried to meet my eyes out of the corners of her own, her jaw feathering. “I’m not stupid, I know that,” she said through her teeth. “But what will happen will happen, no matter what I do. I won’t give you the money for his debt. Figure out another way or let me go.”
I snarled only to freeze when I watched a drop of her sweat cut down her features, carving a trench into the makeup she had decided to put on that day.
I moved the lighter up to her right eye, seeing a shimmer of purple around it.
I stepped back, watched her for a second before I walked over and dumped the bucket of ice tacks onto the floor.
I walked up to the sink and filled the bucket with freezing water, hearing nothing from her. I wondered if she was panicking. Nobody was like this. Nobody just accepted the fact that they were being tortured. It wasn’t fucking rational.
Disassociating maybe?
