Page 129 of The Silencer
23
ANTHONY
Iwatch him sleep after the meds kicked in, the stub on his hand stitched and bandaged. He’s on a heavy dose of antibiotics and pain meds to get him through the worst of it.
The longer I sit here, the more rage builds.
It’s an inferno inside of me.
They’ll pay. They’ll fucking pay.
The door to my bedroom opens, and Bane walks through, wearing a new necklace. I glance at it and see Tatum’s finger inside a glass vial. He turns it in his hand as he makes his way to the bed.
“He looks peaceful,” Bane says, his voice low so as not to wake him.
“He’s happy to be home.”
Bane nods and my eyes go to that damn necklace. What the fuck was he thinking? Then again, with Bane, I never fucking know.
“Please don’t make me take it off. It’s a reminder,” he explains. “A reminder that I fucked up. I won’t do it again. I’ve learned my lesson.”
I nod, just once and then glance over at the open door leading to the hidden passage.
“They’re all there, Boss. Waiting for you.”
“Henry?”
His brow furrows and he scowls. “Can’t find him. The little goblin. But trust me, when I do find him…” Something evil glints in his eyes.
I nod again and then make my way into the passageway, following him through the tunnels.
“Bane, you know that I’ll have to punish you for this.”
He sighs. “Yeah. I’m ready for something to be cut off. Just tell me what.”
“I’m not cutting anything off you. But I will be confiscating your collection. For a time.”
He spins around and gasps. “Boss. What—that…that’s not right.” I don’t respond, and his shoulders sag in the dim light. “I’d have rather lost a leg.”
He pouts the entire way to the room where Douglas is held. He’s slumped over in a chair, one of his fingers already missing. I hear the screams of everyone else we brought back, anyone who dared to help aid in Tatum’s capture and torture. They’re wishing they were dead right now.
But like Bane said, we’re going to make this last. They’re all going to suffer.
Bane shuffles up next to me and pulls something out of his pocket. A finger in a glass vial, almost identical to the one around his neck. “Douglas’s. It’s for Tatum.”
I give a clipped nod and then turn my gaze back to the man of the hour. The man I’m going to pull apart piece by piece.
“Bane, I’d like to handle Douglas. How long do you think I can drag this out for?”
“A few days?” he says as he wheels a cart in front of me. I see tools there. Sharp ones, blunt ones, electric ones.
“Good,” I say as I pick up a blunt, rusty knife. “I’m going to make this last.”
As I say those words, Douglas looks up and fear sparks in his eyes, the smell of piss meeting my nose as I make my way over to him.
I crouch down and dig the tip of the knife into the bloody stub of his finger. He cries out behind the gag in his mouth, and I grin.
“You’re mine, you piece of shit. And you will wish for death.”