Boris laughs. When he finally subsides, he puts on a show of trying to remember. “Hm, you know what? I’ve forgotten. Help jog my memory, will you?”
I slug him in the stomach. I feel the dry crunch of bone breaking beneath my fist. Boris grunts wordlessly, his torso going concave instantly, but the barbed wire keeps him from doubling over too far.
“God have mercy,” Alan gasps, cowering deeper into his side of the cell.
“God won’t help you, Alan. He won’t help either of you.” I turn my attention back to Boris. “I cracked a rib that time, Sobakin. You sure you want me to break another one?”
His breathing is coming in punctured puffs but he still manages a noncommittal shrug. “Do what you see fit.”
His face is already minced meat from last time, but I take my knuckles to it again. Blood spurts and more bones are reduced to dust.
When I finally stop to take a breath, Alan has his face buried under his pillow and Boris’s head is lolling uselessly from his neck. I grab him by his thinning hair and force his face up towards mine. “Are you ready to talk now?”
Boris spits out a mouthful of clotted blood and two destroyed teeth. “What do you want to discuss?” he asks calmly. “The weather? The Lakers game? Catch anything good on television lately?”
My knuckles are raw and bloody but they clench tight all over again. Apparently, it will take a lot more than simple torture to get him to crack. Which means I need to get creative.
I let go of him in disgust and stalk towards the weapons cabinet I keep padlocked in the corner. I unlock it and pull out one of my handcrafted Swiss blades. When I test the edge with the lightest of touches, my finger comes away marked with a thin line of blood.
Alan’s eyes go wide when he sees the blade catching the fluorescent light. Boris looks unmoved. “Going to carve me up for dinner?” he drawls.
“Have you ever been flayed, Boris?” I ask, grabbing a chair and pulling it towards him. “They say it can be so painful that you start begging for the exposed part of your body to be cut off altogether.”
He looks intrigued. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You underestimate me.”
“No,” he snaps, showing his teeth. “You are the one underestimating me. Mind over matter, my friend. Mind over matter. Torture me all you want—my mind won’t feel a thing.”
Grinding my teeth, I grab his arm and pull it towards me. “We’ll see about that.”
I start at his forearm and bear down until his skin comes up in nauseating ribbons. I watch his face the whole time. He’s chalk-white and shivering at the jaw but he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t so much as attempt to pull his arm away. And he doesn’t plead for me to stop.
When I hold up the band of skin I’ve carved off, Boris opens his eyes and gives me a tight smile. “Your workmanship is admirable, Uri.”
Despite his mind over matter bullshit, there’s pain etched all over his face. He’s sweating like a pig and his eyes are loose marbles in their sockets.
“I’ll keep going then.”
His jaw clenches. “Go ahead. I can take it.”
I push off my stool so hard that it topples to the ground. “But why would you want to?”
“Because this is exactly what I wanted.” The red veins in his eyes darken and throb. “Your pain. Your fear. Your inner turmoil. That was always the goal.”
I nod and rise, dropping the bloodied knife onto the table at my side. “You want to see me suffer? The feeling is mutual. But I think I’ve been going about this wrong. You hurt me by taking the one I loved. I ought to pay you back in kind.” I lean in so close that I can smell his raw, oozing flesh. “I will find the people you love the most. I will find the people you hold dear and I will make you watch as I carve the skin from their fucking bodies.”
His teeth flash—what’s left of them, that is. “Unfortunately for you, there is no one I love. There is no one I care about.”
His voice holds steady—but there’s something else there. It only lasts a second, but I catch the fear that flits across his eyes.
It’s all the confirmation I need.
I smile slowly. “You sure about that?”
He swallows, trying to hide his nerves behind a smile. But his grin this time is weak and unconvincing.
I laugh at him as I take my leave. “I’ll see you soon, Boris. Next time, I’ll bring company.”
9
ALYSSA