Page 93 of Savage Desires
"No need to yell. So rude. You're here because you've been a naughty boy. Santa is very disappointed," she tsks.
"Let me go, bitch," he snarls.
"Sticks and stones. Let's start with an easy question. Who do you work for?"
"Fuck you," he says and spits at her.
She steps out of the way before it hits her like she expected it. She gives him a disappointed look and turns towards the table. She shoots me a wink before picking up a wicked-looking knife. She holds it up in front of him, and the part not already covered in dried blood glints in the light. She holds the knife to his throat, and the man loses a little of his bravado but doesn't say anything. She trails the flat of the blade down his chest slowly. In a move so fast I almost miss it, she turns the knife and cuts off his nipple. It falls to the ground with a splat a second before the man screams.
While he's screaming bloody murder, she picks up his nipple by the tip and spins in her fingers. When he finally stops screaming, she holds it up so he can see his own nipple, then slaps it to his cheek, where it sticks like it was suction cupped to his face. Pretty sure she's done that before.
"Now that we've made friends, tell me who you work for," she orders.
"Fuck you," he says again, but with less bravado.
In another lightning-quick move, she removes his other nipple. She doesn't wait for him to stop screaming to slap it to his other cheek. This time, when she asks who he works for, he tells her. In fact, he becomes quite compliant after that. Unfortunately, he seems to be a low-level grunt who knows nothing useful. Since it's impossible to know if he's lying, she has to get creative when she asks again… and again… until she's satisfied he's being truthful.
She looks at Kisten, and he gives her a nod. She smiles like she was just given the best gift ever before turning back to the man and slitting his throat. It takes seconds for him to bleed out. Hera bends down and starts picking through the fingers she cut off like she's trying to find treasure. When she finds the one she's looking for, she stands and puts it in her pocket.
"What the fuck are you keeping his finger for?" Cutter asks, sounding horrified.
"All the best serial killers take trophies."
"Jesus Christ."
"Why not a nipple?" I ask.
"He had ugly nipples, but look at this finger!" she pulls it out of her pocket and holds it up to her face just under her nose.
It takes me a second to see why the finger is a worthy trophy, and when I do, I can't hold back my laughter. In fact, I don't even try. The finger has a fucking mustache tattooed on it. If you would've told me a week ago that I'd be standing in a basement of horrors laughing my ass off at my sociopathic friend holding a severed finger to her face, I never would've believed it.
Hell, I'm living it, and I almost don't believe it.
"That's fucked. You're totally fucked," Cutter says.
"Are you done being children? We have work to do," Kisten barks.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks and choke back my laughter. Nearly losing it again when Hera starts mocking him with the finger still in place. Kisten would probably murder her if he saw. Good thing he's behind her, waking up our second guest.
I ask how they managed to stay unconscious through the other guy's screams. Turns out, if given a mild dose of certain sedatives, you can be knocked unconscious and woken up if given enough pain. Very useful if you don't want to wait for someone to wake up on their own.
Watching Kisten question the second man is a little disconcerting. Seeing the man who touches me so gently with his hands use them for something so violent is hard to reconcile. Hera tortured her man with theatric flair… Kisten is all business. He knows exactly what to do to make his guy talk. Pretty sure the man would give up his balls to get Kisten to stop the torture. When he's extracted everything he can from the guy, he shoots him cleanly in the head.
The sedative must be wearing off because the gunshot woke the third man up. He raises his head, and I get my first look at his face. It's someone I know well from Mecca. Oleg was a guard until about six months ago. He killed one of the top-earning girls while sampling the merchandise. I assumed they'd killed him, but apparently, he was only reassigned. I remember hearing at one point that he's someone important to the boss, which would explain why he's not dead.
I clench my fists and step towards him. His eyes land on me and widen. "Do you recognize me, Oleg?"
"Shlyukha," he says with a smirk as if his insult means anything.
"Whores are paid for what they do," I say coldly.
I study the tools on the table before selecting a wicked-looking clamp. I can feel eyes on me, but no one says anything. Kisten is standing behind the man, silently watching and waiting. I didn't plan to participate in this endeavor, but I also didn't expect to see one of the men I've dreamed of killing either.
I stand in front of Oleg, contemplating if I can really torture a man. I hesitate long enough that he starts thinking I won't do it. He laughs and calls me a weak whore in Russian. I yank his underwear down so his flaccid dick is hanging out. A dick that he used to brutalize me and countless other women.
"Want another ride, shlyukha? I knew you loved this cock. You screamed so prettily when I fucked your ass raw," he says, licking his lips.
I look down at his dick, and the bastard is getting hard thinking about raping me. It's then that I realize I can one hundred percent torture a man. Especially a piece of shit like Oleg. I show the clamp to him. Opening and closing it so he can see the serrated teeth.