I trace the blade along his jaw before flicking my wrist, slicing through his shirt and letting the edge bite into his skin.
His scream rips through the room, genuinely music to my ears as blood blooms through the fabric and spills down his torso. The sight of it brings a contentment I don’t bother to hide.
He thrashes against the restraints, uselessly testing them.
I put the blade to work, opening him in all the places that hurt the most while keeping him very much alive, because the end comes only when I choose it.
He cries out again, his head thrown back, his eyes screwed tightly shut.
This stronzo can’t take the slightest bit of pain.
It doesn’t even sting, really, if anything, it reminds you that you’re still capable of feeling something.
The blade against your skin…
His scream drags me out of the trance I’d slipped into.
I reach for the hammer but change my mind almost immediately. We are not breaking bones today.
Instead, I set it aside and choose another blade, and when I stand before him again, he’s already shaking his head at me in sheer panic.
“Stop looking so worried,” I say with a smirk. “You’ll hardly feel a thing.” A low laugh slips from me.
Adriano’s chuckle from behind draws my attention. He is leaning against the wall with his arms folded, a satisfied smirk fixed firmly on his face, he enjoys this far more than he ever admits.
“Shall we begin with a finger?” I suggest lightly. “Or an arm? Perhaps his revolting manhood… or”—I pause briefly—“his head, maybe?” I can’t hide the amusement in my voice. “After all, that is how I usually work. Heads on spikes.” I add, lightly, “Literally.”
The acrid smell of piss reaches my nose, dragging my attention back to the man strapped to the chair.
Horror is carved across his face.
“I heard about you… you’re d—”
A laugh breaks from me. I glance at Adriano.
“Well, would you look at that. I’m famous. Apparently I’ve made a name for myself.”
He only smiles and shakes his head at me, used to my nonsense by now.
I turn back to the man, narrowing my eyes, the smirk falling from my face.
I look at him properly and feel absolutely nothing.
No pity or hesitation, nothing at all.
Then the image of Emily flashes through my mind, that little girl of ten who has already seen how vile life can be, and the rage surges back tenfold.
This is my purpose in this fucked up world.
To rid it of men like him.
Men who traffic.
Men who prey.
Men who rape.
Paedophiles.
