Chapter 2 (part 1)
768 Words
~The Shadow~
The screams of pain bouncing around the cement walls are getting a tad annoying.
Sometimes it su.cks being the hacker and the enforcer. I really f*****g enjoy hurting people, but tonight, I have no goddamn patience for this whiny asshole.
And normally, I have the patience of a saint.
I know how to wait for what I want. But when I'm trying to get some real answers and the dude's too busy shitting his pants and crying to give me a coherent response, I get a little testy.
"This knife is about to halfway through your eyeball," I warn. "I'm not even going to show you any mercy and shove it all the way through to your brain."
"Fu.ck, man," he cries. "I told you that I just went to the warehouse a few times. I don't know anything about some fuckin' ritual."
"So, you're useless is what you're saying," I surmise, inching the blade towards his eye.
He squeezes them shut as if skin that's no thicker than a centimetre is going to prevent the knife from going through his eye.
Fuc.king laughable.
"No, no, no," he pleads. "I know someone there that might be able to give you more information.
Sweat drips down his nose, mixing with the blood on his face. His overgrown greasy blonde hair is matted to his forehead and the back of his neck. Guess it's not actually blonde anymore since most of it's painted red now.
I had already cut off one of his ears, along with ripping off ten of his fingernails, severed both Achilles heels, a couple of stab wounds in specific locations that won't allow the fucker to bleed out too quickly, and too many broken bones to count.
Dickhead won't be getting up and walking out of here, that's for damn sure.
"Less crying, more talking," I bark, scraping the tip of the knife against his still-closed eyelid.
He cringes away from the knife, tears bubbling out from beneath his lashes.
"H-his name is Fernando. He's one of the operation leaders in charge of sending out mules to help capture the girls. He-he's a big deal in the warehouse, b-basically runs the whole thing there."
"Fernando what?" I snap.
He sobs. "I don't know, man," he wails. "He just introduced himself as Fernando."
"Then what does he look like?" I grind out impatiently through gritted teeth.
He sniffles, snot leaking down his chapped lips.
"Mexican, bald, has a scar cutting across his hairline, and a beard. You can't miss the scar, it's pretty f****d looking."
I roll my neck, groaning as the muscles pop. It's been a long f*****g day.
"Cool, thanks man," I say causally, as if I haven't been torturing him slowly for the past three hours.
His breathing calms, and he looks up at me through ugly brown eyes, hope radiating from them in spades.
I almost laugh.
"Y-you're letting me go?" he asks, staring up at me like a goddamn stray puppy dog.
"Sure," I chirp. "If you can get up and walk."
He looks down at his severed heels, knowing just as well as I do if he stands, his body will go pitching forward.
"Please, man," he bubblers. "Can you help me out here?".
I nod slowly. "Yeah. I think I can do that," I say, right before I swing my arm back and plunge the entirety of my knife through his pupil.
He dies instantly. Not even all the hope has vanished form his eyes yet. Or rather, his one eye.
"You're child rapist," I say aloud, though he's no longer capable of hearing me. "Like I'd let you live," I finish on a laugh.
I slide my knife from the socket, the suction noise threatening to ruin and dinner plans I had in the next several hours. Which is annoying cause I'm hungry. While I do enjoy myself a good torture session, I'm definitely not a dickhead that gets off on the sounds that accompany it.
The gurgling, slurping, and other weird noises bodies make when enduring extreme pain and foreign objects being plunged into them is not a soundtrack I'd ever fall asleep to.
And now for the worst part - dismembering it into bits and pieces and disposing of them properly. I don't trust other people to do it for me, so I'm stuck with the tedious, messy job.
I sigh. What is that saying? If you want it done right, do it yourself?
Well, in this case— if you don't want to get caught and charged for murder, dispose of the body yourself.
- Writer
