Chapter Thirty-Four
~ Skinned Alive ~
Kit
It’s been about five weeks since I came home.
I’m sitting in the garden with Lorraine at lunchtime, the sun warm on my skin but not too harsh thanks to the big umbrella over our table.
I’m wearing black denim shorts and a matching polo shirt that Selina helped pick out last week.
It feels strange sometimes, looking like I actually belong here, like I’m part of Soren’s world instead of just hiding in the edges of it.
My hair has finally started behaving. I’ve gotten into the habit of using the proper curling gels and shampoos, and I actually like how it looks now. Today I let that one stubborn curl fall over my forehead on purpose. I know it drives Soren crazy.
Lorraine sets her teacup down and studies my face for a moment, her expression soft and thoughtful. “It’s healing nicely, you know,” she says gently. “The scar has calmed down a lot in the last few weeks. You’ve been taking such good care of it.”
I touch my cheek lightly, tracing the line with my fingertips.
The wound is still slightly raised, but it doesn’t look as raw or horrifying as it did.
The swelling has mostly gone down, and the colour has faded from an ugly red to a softer pink.
It still pulls sometimes when I smile too wide or talk for too long, but it’s getting better every day.
“Soren helps me with it every single night,” I say quietly, a small smile tugging at my lips. “He makes sure I put the cream on, and he’s paranoid about the sun. He put factor 50 on it himself before I came out here today.”
Lorraine chuckles fondly. “That sounds like him. Protective to a fault.”
I nod, looking down at the table. The scar still makes me self-conscious sometimes, especially when new people see it, but Soren’s constant care has made it feel… less like a flaw and more like something we’re dealing with together.
I lean back in my chair, tilting my face up. The breeze feels nice against my skin.
Lorraine watches me for a moment, then smiles. “You look like you belong here now, Kit. Not just surviving… but actually living.”
I let out a soft breath and smile back at her, the one curl falling over my eye as I tilt my head. Maybe she’s right.
Just then, the steel basement door in the distance swings open. Ray steps out looking thoroughly dishevelled, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair messy, a smear of something dark on his jaw. He’s swinging a familiar black karambit around his thumb like it’s a toy.
Lorraine laughs softly beside me. “Oh dear. Right, well… I don’t want to hear the gory details. I’ll be inside, darling.”
She stands, collecting our mugs and plates with a knowing smile, then heads back toward the house.
I watch Ray walk over, still casually spinning the blade. When he reaches me, I raise a curious brow, waiting.
“Would you like to do the honours?” he asks, holding out my karambit with a mock bow. “We’ve been trying for an hour and getting nowhere.”
I stand up and roll my eyes.
Ray scoffs. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“This polo is new,” I say, brushing a hand down the front, as we cross the gardens. “Would be a shame to ruin it.”
Ray grins. “Oh, that reminds me… yeah, Soren actually had something to give you. You must have been moaning about your clothes a lot.”
I shove his shoulder and laugh. “So what if I don’t want blood-stained clothes? Idiot.”
He nudges me back. “I think you’ll like it.”
Ray opens the heavy basement door for me. I step through, the cool underground air hitting me instantly.
This has kind of become my job over the past month.
I don’t know exactly what clicked in me after I killed Finn and then finished Mitch with Soren…
but something did. I enjoy hurting these bad people far too much.
There’s a part of me that feels a little psychotic for it, but who the fuck cares?
I live here. These people do worse things every single day.
If anything, it just makes me fit in more.
The rest of the guys don’t think outside the box. They’ll stab someone in the leg, break fingers, or punch them repeatedly in the face… all that typical brute stuff. But I’ve got something different in mind today.
Ray closes the door behind us with a heavy clang. We start walking down the stairs, and the long basement hallway toward the cell, our footsteps echoing off the concrete.
We reach cell six; the door is already open.
Soren must’ve heard our footsteps because he steps out, holding something folded in his hands.
The moment he looks up, his eyes lock onto that one deliberate curl I left hanging over my forehead.
I can’t help but wink at him. Soren clenches his jaw, inhaling sharply like he’s physically restraining himself.
Then he unfolds what he’s holding, a crisp white lab coat, and holds it up for me. “I chose white for you, baby,” he says, voice dark. “Thought you’d like to see your chaos every time you put it on.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. I turn and slip my arms into the sleeves. The fabric is smooth and cool against my skin. Ray steps up and fastens the buttons for me, smirking.
“Oh yeah,” Ray says, stepping back to look at me. “Now you’re like a real psycho. Armen would love this.”
“Too bad he’s otherwise preoccupied,” I reply.
Soren points into the room. “The man tied up in there is Samuel Monzo. He’s been a regular customer of mine for years. Recently we discovered he’s been rebranding my product and selling it at a higher price… trying to build his own little business with my drugs.”
I nod, understanding immediately why that would piss Soren off so much.
Ray leans in and whispers, “We want to know where the rest of the drugs are, if anyone was stupid enough to buy from him, and where the cash is. Because that money belongs here, not with him.”
Soren’s voice is cold. “Then you can dispense of him, baby. If he’s sunk this low, he clearly has no life worth living.”
I feel a dark smile pull at my lips, the scar tugging with a familiar sting that barely hurts anymore. I step into the room wearing my new white coat, karambit already in hand.
Samuel’s tied to a metal chair in the centre, bruised and sweating. He coughs when he sees me and spits out, “What the fuck are you gonna do kid…?”
I press a finger to his lips, mockingly gentle. “Shhh. Don’t waste your breath. You’re going to need it.”
He frowns, confusion and fear mixing on his face.
I kneel in front of him, tilting my head. “Did you know the skin is the largest organ of the human body?” I ask conversationally, almost sweetly, as I bunch his jeans up around his knees.
Samuel’s eyes widen in horror. I firmly grab his shin and press the curved blade of the karambit into his skin, slicing off a neat square of flesh. Samuel screams… raw, guttural, and satisfying.
I hold up the dripping piece of skin between us. “Do you know how long I could take… to skin you before you actually die?”
Samuel lets out a choked sob, a tear slipping down his face. “You’re a fucking psycho!”
He writhes; trying and failing to move away. I skin another piece right over his kneecap. He screams again, louder this time.
Ray laughs from the doorway. “Holy shit, Kit… that’s a first.”
Soren inhales sharply behind me, a sound that’s equal parts proud, shocked, and turned on.
Ray crosses the room and places a metal bucket near me. “For the skin,” he says with a grin.
I turn to Soren, purposefully dragging my tongue slowly along the bloody karambit, licking it clean. Soren growls deep in his chest, eyes darkening.
“Could you get me a drink, my love?” I ask sweetly. “This could take a while.”
Soren nods through another low grunt and pats Ray on the shoulder. “Come on. He works better without your distracting commentary.”
Ray starts to protest, “But…”
“Get out, Ray.”
Ray leaves with a chuckle, Soren trailing behind him. The heavy door clicks shut, leaving me alone with Samuel.
◆◆◆
Half an hour later, the cell smells like blood, metallic and tangy.
I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness.
My karambit slides neatly back into my pocket with a quiet click.
Samuel’s right lower leg is completely skinned from the knee down…
raw red muscle and glistening tissue exposed where skin used to be.
His shoe and the bottom half of his jeans lie discarded in the corner.
He passed out screaming a while ago, but he’s still breathing, barely.
I take a long drink from the water bottle Soren brought down for me earlier, the cold liquid soothing my throat.
Samuel had screamed a lot of unintelligible nonsense while I worked, but it wasn’t enough. I need clear answers. I called Soren five minutes ago to come wake him up. He should be more willing to talk now.
The door opens and Armen comes running in, grinning like a complete lunatic. His eyes instantly drop to Samuel’s leg, and he lets out a wild laugh, pointing.
“What the fuck? Kit! Yes, my boy! All grown up now, damn!” He actually steps closer to examine the leg, nodding with genuine pride. “Would you look at that… that’s so clean, Kit!”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “You’re really weird, Armen.”
Armen raises an eyebrow, still grinning. “Oh… I’m the weird one here, huh?”
Before I can reply, Soren walks in. Without saying a word to anyone, he dumps a full bucket of cold water over Samuel’s head. He jolts awake with a gasping, choking scream. The second his eyes land on his own skinless leg, he starts panting and whining, body shaking violently against the ropes.
I huff a soft laugh and tilt my head, meeting his terrified gaze. “Would you be so kind as to repeat the location of the drugs?” I ask calmly. “Or I’ll happily get started on your face.” I lean over slightly. “Maybe we could have matching scars.”
Samuel’s eyes trace the long scar on my face, and he shakes his head frantically.
“It’s… it’s in an old chest,” he rasps, voice hoarse and broken. “At the back of a storage container on the east side of town… Gully’s Lock-up. Unit 320. Please… please…”
Soren grunts, studying Samuel’s face carefully for any sign of lies. Samuel swallows hard, eyes flicking away nervously, under Soren’s intense gaze.
I start unbuttoning my white lab coat, now soaked with blood. My work here is done. I fold the fabric neatly and leave it on the side table. “Well, this was fun, Samuel,” I say lightly, “but I’m gonna leave you with the boss now.”
I walk toward the door, then pause and turn back with a wicked grin. “Oh, and… don’t make me have to come back down here. I’m not as nice the second time around.”
Armen howls with laughter and claps as I walk out of the cell and head toward the stairs leading up to the garden. I don’t look back.