Page 114 of Property of Bones

The basement is quiet.

Not silent…his breathing is too ragged for that…but quiet enough that I can hear the drip of water from the rusted pipe in the corner. I made sure the lights were dim, cold, and clinical. This isn’t a place for fear. It’s a place for truth.

Okay, and maybe a dash of fear.

Luis, because that’s all he is down here, is strapped to the chair, wrists bound in steel cuffs, ankles bolted down. His clothes are long gone. His chest rises and falls, sweat already slicking his skin from the anticipation. Good.

Skip sits on a chair out of the way, a huge excited smile on his face. I usually like to do this alone…no distractions…but sometimes the guys like to watch. As long as they’re silent, I allow it.

I don’t speak at first. Just let Luis sit there in his own tension. Let it build. Let it eat at him.

Then I roll the metal tray forward. Every tool laid out in a neat line. Scalpel. Hook. Pliers. Stitching thread. One of Skip’s small bone saws. Razor. Flame. Ice.

Then, of course, my fillet knives.

I finger the blade of my favorite one before picking it up.

Luis flinches. Not much. But enough.

“I’m going to ask you questions,” I say calmly. “You’ll answer when I want you to. Not before. Not after. If you lie, I’ll know. If you hesitate, I’ll assume it’s a lie.”

“Fuck you,” he growls, already trying to spit blood and venom.

I don’t react. Just step forward and press the blade to his collarbone.

I don’t press hard. Just enough to kiss the skin. “This knife,” I murmur, “can skin a deer in under three minutes. I’ve shaved paper-thin slices off a flank so clean the meat didn’t even know it was gone.”

He sneers. So, I slice.

Not deep. Not even bloody. Just the first layer. A whisper of flesh peeled away from his collarbone. His eyes go wide. Not in pain. But shock.

“Feel that?” I ask. “That’s what precision feels like.”

He jerks against the cuffs. “You’re insane.”

I smile.

“No, Luis. I’mpracticed.”

Another slow stroke. This one angled just under the first. A sliver of skin lifts like it wants to curl. Still not enough blood to drip. Just enough to sting.

“I’ve always liked shadows more than ghosts,” I say conversationally, moving to his ribs. “Ghosts… they’re noisy. Full of moaning and wails. Shadows? They don’t make a sound. They just… move in.”

I make a cut under his left pec. This one’s deeper. He hisses through clenched teeth.

“You came into our territory. Took my woman. Hurt her. Hurt mysister.” My voice drops as I bend close to his ear. “You made her afraid of the dark again.”

His chest heaves. Sweat pours.

“So, you’re going to pay for that. Then, you’ll pay for tormenting my woman. Then for Max and his mom. And when I’m done, you’ll tell me who your partner is. Because if you don’t…”

I slide the blade along the underside of his forearm, so delicately it looks like I’m painting him.

“I’ll just keep carving you into ribbons. Little thin layers. Until there’s nothing left but bones.”

“Go to hell,” he rasps.

I straighten. “Already been there,” I say. “Now I’m the one giving tours.”

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