Page 73 of Graves

“What’s the most painful one to use?” I ask.

Zayden cackles with glee before he rushes over to me.

“So if it were me,” he says, pointing at himself, “I’d start by breaking every bone in his body before you even get to the cutting, but that could take a while, and I don’t know how long you want to?—”

“He abused me for seven years, I have as long as it takes,” I say hollowly.

“Seven years?” Zayden asks stiffly.

I nod, not making eye contact with him. His hand grips the large meat tenderizer, gripping it in his palm before swinging around, connecting the metal tool against Jim’s left cheekbone. He screams in pain as Zayden continues his assault, hitting his kneecaps with such ferocity that the crunch that sounds is downright sickening. The next move he makes is Jim’s clavicle. His body bucks at that, forcing the chair to the ground.

Zayden turns to face me easily, tossing the tenderizer onto the table before he blows a piece of hair out of his face.

“Sorry, angel. I got him started.”

A sick part of me forces a smile to spread across my face, an actual smile. Is it weird to swoon because a man kidnapped and beat your abuser? I don’t think so.

“Zayden, do you have any more cigars?”

He nods, patting his chest before pulling one out and a lighter. He offers them to me, and I take them both, lighting the cigar.

“Please sit him up,” I ask.

Zayden nods his head dutifully, lifting him and the chair up, all with ease. I continue lighting the cigar until the end iscompletely red hot.

“Do you need a cutter, angel?” Zayden offers, nodding to the cigar.

“Soon.”

I don’t intend on smoking this, though.

“Do you know why I only have tattoos on one arm, Zayden? Nowhere else on my whole body?”

He shakes his head, his eyes filled with fascination.

“To cover up these,” I say before plunging the lit cigar into Jim’s bare arm.

Since he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a white wife beater, there is so much skin to choose from, and I plan on burning every inch possible.

His muffled screams are still extremely audible behind the tape, and a sick part of me enjoys the sound. I pull it away from his skin, re-lighting the end for the maximum amount of burn before I do it again and again. I litter his skin with so many burn holes that I practically black out, only the smell of burning flesh and tobacco mingling in the air.

Zayden, at some point, comes up to me, his fingers skimming over my tattooed arm as I continue my work. His fingertips delicately begin tracing over the slightly raised areas. They healed well since I was so young, but they’re still there if you look hard enough, thanks to him.

I watch as Zayden’s chest begins to heave and his eyes darken, anger seemingly having a vice grip on him as he looks up to me.

“I want you to have this, but I need to kill him. He hurt you,he needs to die.”

I smile sadly, shaking my head at my deranged protector.

“I wish all he did was hurt me with a cigar.”

Zayden’s eyes narrow at that as I hold out my hand for him.

“Cigar cutter, please?” I ask.

He digs around in his pockets before producing one for me, his gaze heavily on me as I move to stand behind Jim, gripping his sausage fingers in my hand.

“These fingers.” I laugh coldly. “They touched me and ripped me. Poked and prodded. They were the things that started it all.”

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