Page 96 of Sin Like the Devil

“Don’t know.”

“Liar!” He squeezes my jaw hard enough to grind. “Where?”

“Don’t… know!”

“You’re lying!”

Releasing my jaw, he takes my wrist from Owen. I try to scratch him, but Rick slams it on the floor to hold me still. His spare hand grasps my index finger tight.

“I’ve spent the last year watching you swan around this place like you own it. Hurting people. Mouthing off. Throwing your weight around. I know you’re a lying piece of shit.”

My gut boils with anger. Everything he hates about me is everything I fucking hate about me. And I don’t care how mad it’ll make him, I want him to pay for voicing my biggest shames out loud.

“Even if I knew where he is… I wouldn’t tell you.” I lick warm blood from my mouth. “Imagine what they’re doing to him right now.”

“Rip,” Raine hisses.

“You wanna know what they do to disposable patients?” I continue regardless of the possible consequences. “Your stupid friend won’t even know his own name by the time they’re done.”

I know I’m in for a world of pain when Rick begins to overextend my finger joint. He forcefully pulls until I feel something pop, followed by a sharp, intense burning that sets my whole left hand alight.

“You will tell me,” he orders through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll dislocate every single finger you have.”

“Do it! I don’t care!”

Moving on to the next finger, he wrenches it from the socket with a low growl. The pain is even more intense. This time, I can’t hold back a wail. It feels like my fingers are being dipped in acid and corroded down to the bone.

“Shut her up,” Rick barks at his friend. “We don’t need company.”

Clamping his sweaty palm over my mouth, Owen silences my cries. I continue to shriek into his damp skin as Rick dislocates two more fingers, each wrenching motion as merciless as the last.

Raine’s yelling and frantic battling to escape barely register. He’s still being held down, unable to throw his captor off in his weakened state. All I can feel is the steady pounding in my burning hand.

“Well?” Rick prompts.

Owen lifts his hand from my mouth long enough for me to respond. I pant roughly, my entire body slick with sweat and trembling all over.

“I h-hope you never find him.”

“You stupid, stupid cunt.”

Smiling through the pain, I scream myself hoarse when he moves to the last victim—my thumb. It’s snapped out of place with a sick clicking sound. But Rick doesn’t seem in the least bit satisfied by my escaping sobs.

“Maybe we should do him again?” Owen nods to Raine.

“I want the little bitch to hurt, not him!”

“Just an idea, man.”

“Well I have a better one.”

Reaching around the back of his waist, Rick tugs something free from his jeans. A switchblade, not unlike the one I stabbed him with, reveals itself with a distinctive flicking sound.

“It took eight stitches to patch me up after our last tangle.” Rick studies the glinting blade. “So I owe you at least double that, right?”

Raine must clock the soft flick of the blade unlatching because he goes wild. Bucking. Bellowing. Promising death. Ant—the other dickhead—grabs a handful of his sandy locks and slams his skull into the floor with a crack.

He goes limp, limbs splayed and mouth lolling open. With that distraction taken care of, Rick kneels on my wrist and shoves the sleeve of my long t-shirt up past my elbow, despite my vicious cursing.

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