Chapter Fourteen
Gage
The sun set a while ago, daylight is long gone—leaving the easy darkness of night. The sounds of the city echo through the buildings and fade into the background as white noise. Even if it weren’t so pitch black outside, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.
Footsteps sound in the parking lot with the jingle of keys. Dane approaches where I’m waiting by his car. Even though he doesn’t see me coming, I know he senses me.
But not until it’s too late.
Stepping up behind him, I don’t even allow him to turn around and look at me before I strike. Clamping my hand on the back of his head, I smash his face down onto the side of his car, hard enough to knock him unconscious and break his nose in the process.
Whistling to myself, I lean down to hoist him over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold and head towards the back door into my office.
The entire building is now empty, Dane was the last one here. I let him leave for the night—let him clean up his station and lock up the shop through the main doors—like it was just a normal night for two reasons. One, it’s better for me that the cameras saw him leave for alibi reasons. And two, because I want him to feel the full weight of terror when I give him what’s coming for him.
He spent the last three days looking over his shoulder for me, keeping one eye on the door at all times. I watched on the security cameras as he glanced around every ten seconds and jumped at every little sound. His paranoia was satisfying, so I let it build until he drowned in it. And just when he thought he was safe, that he got away with it—here the fuck I am.
There aren’t any cameras in my office, not ones that anyone has access to. The surveillance for my office is kept hidden on a separate server that only I have access to for confidentiality reasons. Anders handles the rest of the security for my business, but my office is off-limits. My clients value their privacy, and so do I.
Carrying Dane into my office, I lock the door behind me before I drop him onto my tattoo chair. The plastic sheeting covering the leather crinkles under his weight as I strap his arms onto the armrests and secure his ankles down. Reaching into my tattoo station, I grab a pair of black disposable gloves and pull them on with a snap.
The metallic chink of my knife sounds in the silence as I flip the blade open. Being none too gentle, I begin cutting and ripping the clothing off his body until he lies naked and pathetic. I sneer at the tattoos scattered over his body. They’re tacky and ugly as fuck.
The blood dripping from his bashed nose gets me excited. Adrenaline courses through me, and the anticipation swells. This fucker is about to feel pain like he’s never experienced before.
I’m going to enjoy this.
If I were a patient man, I would sit and wait for him to wake up on his own. But I’m not. So instead, I decide to give him a little wake-up call.
I light one of the cigars I stole from his workstation. The end sparks to life, embers flaring as it starts to burn. The smoke burns my nostrils, and I scowl at the damn thing. Of course this bastard would like this rank shit.
It’s noxious and disgusting, just like him.
Standing over him, I take the tip of the cigar and press the burning end to his skin. A thrill races through my veins at how his flesh singes in a near-perfect circle. Dane’s eyes pop open with a pained yelp, his gaze looking around frantically at his surroundings. When his eyes land on me, they bulge in fear.
So fucking satisfying.
“Gage, what—” he struggles against his restraints, looking down at his naked body. I can see when panic sets in. “No, no, no, no.”
“You knew this was coming,” I say calmly, sucking on the gross cigar to keep the spark alive. I blow the smoke out into his face, making him cough. “You’ve known me long enough to know what you were asking for. Hell, you were practically begging for it. So, here we are.”
“Is this about Jill?” Her name on his unworthy lips makes my temper rage.
“Say her name again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.” The cigar presses into the eye of his gypsy woman tattoo, making him howl. I press it down a little too hard and leave it on a little too long. When I lift it, the melted flesh is charred, with blood springing to the surface.
Oops.
“I didn’t touch her, man. I barely even looked at her. I swear.”
“You never could tell a decent lie. Apparently, not even to save your own life.”
“This is crazy, Gage.” He attempts a laugh and a reassuring smile. “C’mon, you know me.”
Walking around the chair, my tongue runs over my top teeth in contempt. Watching his body move on the chair as he fights against his restraints has the anger boiling hotter inside me, fueling my rage. I picture Jill lying behind the curtain with his talentless fingers all over her. All over what’s only for me. What’s mine.
“Exactly, I know you. I know what kind of a scum-sucking rat you really are. A greedy little opportunist who never knows when to quit.” I lean in closer. “Your grabby little hands are always reaching for what’s not yours to touch. This time, you went too far.”
He’s right-handed, so I grab his left. He resists my hold, but it’s useless. His hand trembles in mine, and I soak in the racing of his pulse. Lifting up his pinky, I turn to look him in the eye. “Did this finger touch her?”
He starts to shake his head frantically in a lie of self-preservation. We’re way past that.
Dane tattoos with his right hand, so his left hand would be the one used to wipe and manipulate the canvas—my Jill. Every finger on this hand has touched her.
A malicious smile crosses my face, and he stills. “Go ahead. Lie to me.”
He pales considerably, the blood draining from his face. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pisses himself right on my chair.
“Okay, it touched her.” Before the words have even left his mouth I snap his pinky with enough force to shatter the bone. Dane yells, his breathing becoming erratic. He huffs his breaths through clenched teeth against the pain. His agony itches through my blood like a drug.
I’m just getting started.
Lifting up his ring finger, I cock my head to one side.
“Did this finger touch her?” I ask, earning a groan. He hesitates but doesn’t give any excuses or lies this time. Finally, he nods. That finger gets snapped too—twice.
Finger by finger, I ask which ones touched my Jill. Soon, his entire left hand is mangled and swollen, all five fingers rendered completely useless. Then I move to his right hand. Only three of those five fingers are spared—the ones that only held the tattoo gun.
Snot and tears run down Dane’s face, mixing with the blood trailing from his nose as he cries. Staring down at him, I don’t feel an ounce of remorse or sympathy, just malice.
“Nothing else touched her, I swear. Nothing,” he blubbers, but I don’t believe him. My eyes trail down his body to his limp dick.
His tiny limp dick.
“You touched yourself, didn’t you?” After Jill left with her tattoo, Dane disappeared for a good twenty minutes. “Touching her made you hard. Being so close to her pussy and tits, feeling the softness of her against your hands, made you hard as a fucking rock. You were so turned on that you went to the bathroom after she left, and you jerked yourself off, imagining it was her. Didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. She’s hot. I couldn’t help it.” His stammering grates against my self-restraint. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Did you rub her?” I ask, my voice shaking as I fight to stay in control.
“What?”
“Did you rub your erection against my Jill while she was in your chair?” I say the words slowly, the deadly intent swirling through me so powerful I can taste it.
“I—I didn’t mean to. I was reaching for something and—” His entire body is trembling as I fist his balls in my hand, squeezing them tightly.
“Say it.” My knife chinks open, ready to spill blood. His response has me seeing red, all control leaving my body as my demons take hold of me.
“Yes. My boner touched her, but—ahhh!” His words trail off into screams of agony, raw and unfiltered, as my knife saws the testicles from his body. His wrinkly ball sack is tossed to the floor at my feet. Blood spills over the plastic-covered chair onto the tarps covering the floor. Dane’s body jerks, his back arching, as his eyes roll back in his head. Losing consciousness, his body goes limp.
Power pulses through me, addicting and euphoric. I feel vindicated as gratification rolls over me and settles into my bones.
I don’t know what made him faint—the blood loss or the pain. I don’t give a shit. I’ll patch him up with a few rough stitches and a bandage around his shriveled junk. Letting him bleed out would defeat the whole purpose. I won’t kill him—letting him live is so much better.
Dane will live the rest of his life not able to fully use his hands to create the art he’s dedicated himself to. He’ll never get an erection thinking of my Jill again or at all. Most importantly, he’ll never lay another finger on my girl.
No one will.