“We—we got drunk,” he continues, licking his bloody lip.“Tim said we should send a message.Scare him off.Make him understand this town doesn’t want Devil Souls expanding their territory.”
“And the brick?The note?”I press the knife harder, drawing a bead of blood.
“My idea,” he admits, wincing at the sting.“Didn’t think it would actually hit anyone.Just wanted to break the window.”
I laugh, the sound hollow and menacing in the concrete room.“You throw a brick through a window with someone standing right there, and you didn’t think it would hit them?Try again.”
“Okay, okay!”Miller’s voice rises in panic.“We wanted to hurt him!We wanted to run him out of town!He was a faggot in high school and he’s a faggot now, just with a fancy degree and the Devil Souls’ protection!”
I step back, handing the knife to Grey.My hands are shaking too badly to trust myself with it right now.“You targeted him because he’s gay.Because he’s with me.Because he dared to open a clinic that helps people you think are beneath you.”
Miller says nothing, his silence damning.
“Do you know what Xavier was doing when you attacked him?”I ask, my voice deceptively calm.“Setting up a pediatric exam room.Making sure kids would feel safe when they came to see the doctor.Creating a place so people who can’t afford healthcare can get treatment without judgment.”I lean closer, my face inches from his.“He was trying to help this community.The same community that’s done nothing but shit on him his whole life.”
“Please,” one of the other men whimpers from against the wall.“We’re sorry.It was stupid.We’ll never go near him again.”
“You’re right about that,” I agree, turning to face them all.“Because after tonight, you’ll understand exactly what happens to anyone who threatens what’s mine.”
What follows is ugly.Necessary, but ugly.I won’t say I take no pleasure in it, because that would be a lie.Every scream, every plea, every drop of blood feels like justice for the brick that could have killed Xavier, for the years of torment he endured, for the slurs and hatred that forced him to hide who he was for so long.
I circle Miller, who’s trembling in his chair, eyes darting between me and the table of tools I’ve laid out with methodical precision.I select a pair of pliers, the metal cold and heavy in my palm.The fluorescent lights overhead catch on the serrated edges, throwing shadows that dance across Miller’s sweat-slicked face.
“Open your mouth,” I say, my voice eerily calm even to my own ears.
Miller clamps his lips shut, shaking his head frantically.Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, cutting clean tracks through the blood and grime on his cheeks.
“That wasn’t a request.”I nod to my father, who steps forward and grips Miller’s jaw with one massive hand, fingers digging into the pressure points that force his mouth open in a silent scream.
I lean in close, close enough to smell the sour beer on his breath, the acrid stench of fear-induced sweat soaking through his shirt.“The tongue is an interesting organ,” I tell him conversationally, as if we’re discussing the weather.“Regenerates faster than most body parts.But not completely.”I tap the pliers against his bottom teeth, metal clicking against enamel.“Not when it’s removed properly.”
One of the other men makes a strangled sound of terror from his position against the wall.I don’t look away from Miller’s eyes, watching as understanding dawns, as the reality of what’s about to happen sinks in.
“Please,” he manages through my father’s grip, the word garbled and desperate.“I swear to God, we’ll never?—”
“You called him a faggot,” I interrupt, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow fills the concrete room.“In high school.Tonight.Even in this room, with your life in my hands.That word keeps coming out of your mouth.”I tap his lips with the pliers.“So, I’m thinking the problem starts right here.”
My mother steps forward.“Hold his head steady,” she instructs my father, who adjusts his grip.Then she turns to me, something terrible and righteous burning in her eyes.“Do it right, Zachary.Make sure he remembers every time he tries to speak.”
I position the pliers, the metal jaws opening wide.Miller thrashes against his restraints, the zip ties cutting into his wrists until blood trickles down his fingers.My father’s grip tightens, immobilizing him.
“This is for every slur,” I say, voice steady as I clamp the pliers around Miller’s tongue.The metallic taste of my own adrenaline fills my mouth as I lock eyes with him one last time.“This is for Xavier.”
The first pull draws a scream so raw it seems to vibrate through the concrete walls.Blood immediately wells up, dark and thick, spilling over his lower lip and down his chin.I don’t stop.Can’t stop.The resistance of muscle and tissue transmits through the pliers and into my hand, a sickening sensation that I push through with mechanical precision.
Miller’s body convulses, his scream turning wet and gurgling as more blood fills his mouth.The sound cuts off abruptly as the tongue separates, the pliers now holding a piece of flesh that twitches obscenely in the harsh light.
I step back, breathing hard, watching as Miller’s head lolls forward.Blood pours from his mouth in a steady stream, splashing onto his jeans and pooling on the concrete floor.The drain beneath his chair gurgles as it swallows the evidence.
“Get the cauterizing iron,” I tell Demon without looking away from Miller’s slumped form.“Don’t want him bleeding out before we’re finished.”
Grey moves to the next man in line, Tim Buckley, who’s voiding his bladder in terror as he watches what’s happening.The acrid smell of urine mingles with the copper tang of blood, creating a cocktail of fear and pain that fills the basement.
“Your turn,” Grey tells him, his voice almost gentle, which somehow makes it more terrifying.“Same question.What were Zach’s boyfriend’s exact words when you attacked him?”
Buckley’s mouth works silently, eyes fixed on the bloody mass in my pliers.“He—he didn’t say anything,” he finally stammers.“We just threw the brick and ran.I swear to Christ.”
“Wrong answer,” Grey says, selecting a different tool from the table.A thin filleting knife with a curved blade.“Xavier is a doctor.A healer.He saves lives every day.”The knife traces a lazy pattern in the air between them.“And you tried to take his.Over what?His sexuality?His connection to us?”
