Dante
I don’t know his name.
That’s part of the fun. When you’re twisting, squeezing, and breaking, not knowing their names dehumanizes them.
Chained to a chair that’s bolted into the ground, my new toy has dark blue eyes and light brown hair.
A little over six feet tall, he carries his two-hundred-pound frame well.
He’s barely older than me, and apart from his stubbornness, unremarkable in every way.
He’s the type of person you see on the street and forget about instantly. Like a chameleon, he could blend in anywhere. Even if I knew his name, it wouldn’t matter. In the interrogation room, the victims only exist at my discretion.
Today, the man before me is raw meat.
With deliberate care, I roll up my sleeves. Too many people confuse torture with mindless violence. Fear doesn't drive results…the decimation of hope does. I’m effective at what I do because I understand what the loss of hope feels like.
After selecting a pair of pliers, I grab the chameleon’s hand. When he tries to jerk away, I drive my head into his nose, relishing the crack of cartilage and the blood that streams into my hair. I love the coppery smell and the wetness of someone else’s life force on my skin.
“I’ll give you a chance to earn a painless death. If you tell me the truth, this ends quickly.”
From the corner of the room, Sara’s breathing becomes ragged, but I won’t allow her horror to impair my ability to work.
A ridiculous notion. This is who I am now, a monster partially created by her own actions. If anyone deserves to see me at my worst, it’s her.
The defiant chameleon sneers up at me. “I don’t know shit.”
My tongue runs along my bottom lip. “Wonderful. I was hoping for a chance to play.”
Gripping the pliers, I get to work. The first fingernail’s always the hardest, especially if you lack traction or use cheap tools. I start with his thumb and let the fun begin.
Prisoners usually fall into two camps: those who believe remaining quiet serves as some sort of win and those who scream. In reality, silence only heightens the agony, whereas vocalization can help distract from the pain.
The chameleon is a screamer. His shriek echoes around us, and in the periphery, I spy Sara cringing. “Tell me where he is.”
The man gasps. “Fuck you.”
“So original.”
Time slips by as I remove more nails, sweat dampening my skin from the effort.
“Ready to talk?”
At this point, since he refuses to answer, the questions are perfunctory. He bleeds and whimpers plenty, though.
Iron clacks against iron as Sara yanks at her chains. “Dante, stop this. Please.”
The captive’s eyes rake over her body, and the last of my control snaps like shattering glass.
“Don’t look at her,” I growl.
With one hand, I pry his lips apart and capture a molar between the pliers.
“Maybe your memory will kick in after I pluck out a few of these bad boys. What do you think?” I grin because smiling is a fundamental human trait.
One that apparently persists even after someone strips your humanity away. “Want to bet on it?”
A choked sob comes from the corner. “Please don’t.”
Tears streak down Sara’s cheeks. Luca chained her hands overhead, forcing her into an awkward position where her toes can barely touch the ground.
My chest clenches, but I ignore the sensation and tsk instead. “Careful. If you struggle too much, you’ll dislocate your shoulders.”
Sara stills immediately, and I turn my back on her horrified expression.
If I stare too long, I might lose my resolve, and she needs this.
We need this. Witnessing the violent world I attempted to protect her from will teach her once and for all that I’m so much worse than anything she could ever dream of.
As for me?
In leaving the damn cell door unlocked, I committed an unforgivable mistake.
Due to my carelessness—as well as my ridiculous need for her to want me—I nearly enabled her escape.
During dinner last night, I came far too close to forgiving her for her role in my abduction.
I wanted so badly to believe that she loved me once.
Then, after she revealed her inner viper, I believed, however briefly, that maybe she was tougher than I gave her credit for. That maybe she possessed the necessary traits to survive in my world. Worse, I started to believe she might want to live in it with me.
Joke’s on me, since not even twelve hours later, she tried to flee.
With renewed madness, I adjust my grip on the pliers. If the prisoner survives, he’ll remember me every time he looks in the mirror. That thought stirs savage glee, along with familiar revulsion. One always seems to accompany the other.
The muscles in my arm flex as I pop the tooth loose with a squelch. The chameleon’s high-pitched shriek pierces my ears.
He gags on the blood spilling down his throat. He’s still whimpering as I shift to a new target, the roaring in my head escalating to a deafening level.
I never cared about her. How could I when this is who I am? Knives and scarred flesh crowd out fragile things like love, leaving no space for sentiment. The next tooth wrenches out in a symphony of viscera and agony. The chameleon bucks in the chair, releasing noises no man should make.
Yet somehow, I only have ears for Sara’s cry.
I know screams like I know pain, but hers is new to me. I’ve never hurt her before, not like this, and the sound claws at my skin.
I grit my teeth. She’s just as guilty as the men who hurt me. I should want to punish her.
The Council expects as much.
A haze falls over me, and my body begins operating on autopilot.
The beast she helped create requires an outlet, so I offer up the chameleon like a sacrifice at the altar of my hate.
I pluck two more teeth from his mouth before I set down the pliers and reach for the battery-powered bone.
The machine ignites with a growl, and when the metal teeth meet flesh, the combined song of human and machine drowns out the rest of the universe.
I start with his hands, methodically chopping a finger at the knuckle before moving to the next. Blood splatters my face and clothes in a hellish christening.
“Dante Cristiano Argento!” Sara’s shout penetrates the miasma of violence like the sun slicing through the clouds, cracking the protective wall around my mind.
I falter. That brief hesitation allows Sara’s broken sobs to shatter even more of my shield, and I wince as my surroundings return.
“Please don’t hurt him again! I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”
With a quick shake of my head to free my brain of any lingering cobwebs, I retreat to inspect my handiwork.
Missing fingernails and a few teeth lay scattered on the ground.
My knuckles are bruised and swollen, and it hurts to open my hand fully.
I catalogue the damage, not allowing myself to look away from the suffering I inflicted.
“Anything, huh?” I muse over the offer as I stare down at the canvas of flesh where my masterpiece draws ragged inhales. The chameleon sags in his bonds, one eye swollen shut and crimson dripping from his mouth.
Abandoning him, I spin toward Sara. The closer I get, the more the icy lake in the pit of my stomach thaws.
The power she still wields over me is just one more reason to despise her. She possesses the ability to dull even my sharpest edges.
I press her into the wall and glare down into her heart-shaped face. “You want me to stop? Then take his place.”
The color drains from her skin as I unlock her cuffs. She quakes so hard that her teeth chatter, further proof she’s too soft for this world.
That last thought lingers in my brain, because despite all the humiliation I’ve inflicted, Sara remains the same caring person from my memories.
She might just be that good at remaining in character, but…
what if I got the situation wrong? The scruffy state of her apartment and clothes certainly don’t indicate a woman who received a big chunk of cash, and our search never found a bank account in her name containing more than a modest amount of money.
The flash of defiance in her glossy eyes steals my attention.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, then so be it.”