He’s on the floor, writhing like a fish out of water, his limbs twitching in jerky, uncontrolled spasms. Sweat pours down his face, mixing with the blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. His cheeks are already beginning to swell, grotesque and uneven, and his lips part in a strangled moan that barely sounds human.
His gums torn raw and bleeding, all of his molars ripped out like weeds—roots and all. Dark, clotted blood pools at the back of his throat, bubbling every time he tries to breathe. His tongue lolls to the side, stained crimson, trembling with every shallow inhale.
I chuckle at the sight of his shaky hands clawing at the floor, trying to drag himself away from me with the strength of a dying insect.
“Oh, come on now…” I drone, tilting my head. “Don’t be a fucking bore, mate.”
He doesn’t make it far.
I grab his leg and yank him back in one rough pull, the sound of his skin scraping against the concrete like sandpaper on raw meat. He screams, a hoarse, gurgled thing that dissolves into sobs when I crouch beside him again.
A part of me almost empathizes with the man, I remember how gut-wrenching pain shakes can be.. To hurt so deep it makes your vision blur, your stomach twist, your body betray you.
But this guy? This isn’t some scared little kid who made a mistake. This is a predator. A fucking animal who bites children like he thinks he’s starring in a horror flick.
I reach down and tap his chin lightly with two fingers, forcing his glossy eyes to meet mine.
“Don’t pass out yet,” I whisper, my tone almost gentle. “You’ve got three more teeth in the front. And I’m nothing if not thorough.”
His whimpers echo throughout the basement, bouncing off the concrete walls like a broken lullaby. I tilt my head, watching the way his lip trembles as he starts to hyperventilate—short, panicked gasps that rattle in his throat.
“Aww,” I coo, voice mock-soft, like I’m comforting a frightened pet. “Look at that. Poor thing’s shaking all over.”
I trail a blood-slicked finger just under his chin, forcing his face back up. “Breathe through it, yeah? Or don’t. Makes no difference to me.”
“It makes a difference to me,” the low timber of an Irish accent invades the tranquility of my torture chambers.
I don’t bother looking up. My knuckles graze the angry swell of the bastard’s jaw, still bubbling with blood and spit, whilethe scent of antiseptic and overpriced cologne seeps in—Conner Kilgore. “Do you have to make such a mess, every time?”
I hear him cough once—sharp, offended.
“Well, let’s see what the file says,” I mutter, finally standing. My boots squelch against the blood-soaked concrete. “Because I kill your prey only when I agree to hate the crime.”
Conner steps gingerly over a puddle, the bottom of his slacks stained now whether he likes it or not. “Yes, butkillingandtortureare two very different things, Landon. Most of this blood isnotcoming out of these clothes.”
I flash him a grin as I wipe my hands on the front of my shirt. “You’re a forensic scientist, mate. Blood should be your playground, and you should know how to get it out.”
“I prefer a cleaner crime scene than you.” He gestures vaguely toward the twitching man. “And I don’t usually pull teeth withpliers, either.”
I walk past him, toward the file he left on the metal table by the wall. “You said he was a child predator who liked to bite.”
“Yes,” Conner says, arching a brow.
“So I took his teeth.”
Conner snorts, as he squats down next to the largest puddle of blood, spit, and possible piss, that has started to stain the concrete. “You’re apatientfuck, I’ll give you that, but please start using the plastic we have discussed.”
I flip open the file, eyes scanning the pages. “My father used to say that I am a stubborn fuck.”That’s why I needed to be beaten more. Because I could withstand more. For longer. UnlikeKelly, who broke faster than I did every time. She couldn’t withstand the torture.
Conner doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for the first time tonight, I take a breath. The sharp, coppery stench of blood is everywhere, coating the back of my tongue like I’ve been sucking on pennies. But underneath that—there’s more. Sour sweat. Rotting nerves. Spit thick with bile.
I blow the breath out through my nose and roll my shoulders.
“Christ,” Conner mutters, covering his nose with one sleeve. “You breathe this shit in like it’s fresh air.”
“If it wasn’t for the piss, you would be too, brother.”
Conner glances down at the pool spreading beneath the man’s ruined body, nostrils flaring with disgust.
