“God fucking dammit!” he bursts, panting through the pain.
I’ll keep him alive long enough to get Daya. Then, I’ll come back and finish off the job—permanently. I don't have any more time to waste on him.
“Who was the person you spoke to when you answered the ad?” I push.
“They were anon-ymous. You-you think they introduce themselves when they answer the phone?” he snaps. “I told them I knew where she was and who was helping me. They told me they’d transfer the money when Addie was in their possession. Th-that’s it!”
I grab his other hand and clip the skin between his pointer and middle finger, purely because I don’t appreciate his attitude.
“Do you know how many men laid in this very chair before you?” I ask casually, glancing at his shredded face.
“N-no,” he cries, dragging the note out in a sorrowful wail.
“Me neither,” I shrug. “Lost count. But what I do remember is that I broke every single one of them.”
Max squeezes his eyes shut when I lean forward, not brave enough to face his tormentor. “But you’re the first one to have broken me first, Max. I can admit that. You broke me into tiny little pieces when you took Addie from me. Because of you, I’m no longer a man.”
I straighten my spine. “Do you know what that means for you? It means I have no humanity left in me. No empathy. No guilt. Nothing. I could do this all fucking day, and even when your body gives out, I’d just bring it back again.”
Tears spill from the corners of his eyes, but they have no effect on me.
“I’m s-sorry, man. It was an honest mistake,” he groans. “I only did it ‘cause of my f-father.”
“You only got a girl kidnapped and sold into the skin trade, you mean? You only condemned an innocent woman to torture, trauma, and rape because your daddy died?” My voice begins to crack by the end, and I clench my jaw, struggling to hold on to what little sanity I have left. I’m falling apart at the seams, tears building in my vision.
He shakes his head and blubbers, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Breathing in and out, slowly I regain control. I nod, accepting that response for what it is. We both know there is absolutely nothing he can say to atone for what he’s done.
“All it would’ve taken was a little research, my guy. Even if you were hotheaded enough to threaten me directly—that actually would’ve saved your life.”
And my soul.
He snivels, having nothing to say. So, I pick up the mini saw and flip it on. His nearly black eyes blow wide, dilated with terror.
I’ve sliced up his face pretty good, but I find there’s a much better use for it.
“Do you know what’s possibly being done to Addie as we speak?” I question, the buckle of his belt clanging beneath the soft whirring of the blade.
He squeezes his eyes shut again as I unfasten his pants and yank them down. I wrinkle my nose. He pissed himself.
“P-please, man,” he cries, sobs racking his throat. Snot leaks from his nose and into his mouth, and all I see is a man who’s only sorry he got caught. A man who was too arrogant and too stupid to think he wouldn’t suffer the consequences for his actions. “Don’t do this.”
The cavern in my chest widens, devouring what was left of my conscience.
My soul has no place inside a monster.
So, I got rid of it.
“She’s being raped,” I tell him, my voice deepening with unbridled fury. Those images haunt me. “Can you imagine by how many men?”
He shakes his head, his legs trembling as I yank down his boxers, glad that I’m wearing thick nylon gloves.
“It’s all I can think about,” I choke out on a whisper. “I’m plagued by the torture she must be suffering through. The pain and how she probably wants to die.”
And how I want to die.
I grab him between the legs, seeing nothing but a slideshow of Addie’s torment on repeat. I could saw off my own fingers, and I’d hardly notice.
They’re hurting her. Scaring her. Making her cry.
The blade cuts through skin and muscle, eliciting a scream that horror movies can’t imitate. That sound can only be born from the type of horror very few humans actually experience.
It sounds like music.
Is it the same sound Addie is making?
Blood spurts, painting Max and me in crimson. He sucks in a deep breath, preparing to let loose another scream no one else will ever hear, but then he passes out.
Pussy.
Quite literally now.