Page 77 of Toxic B!tch
“Okay! Okay!” he gasps out between sobs and choked breaths. “There’s a-a-a group,” shaking his head, “they—they find what we like or want. They send pictures, get the details, and then lure them in with money, gifts… whatever it takes. It’s not illegal. We’re doing nothing wrong.”
“It’s grooming!” I scream.
In one smooth motion, I grab the knife once more, slicing along both sides of his underwear, the blade gliding through the fabric with ease. With a sharp yank, I tear the rest away, ripping it out from under him. The sound of fabric shredding fills the air, blending with his startled yelp as he realizes just how exposed he truly is.
“Look at you,” I taunt, reveling in his humiliation. “A man stripped bare—not just of clothing, but of all pretenses.” I let the tip of the knife glide along his thigh.
“What do you want?” he whimpers, eyes wide and pleading.
“I want you to understand,” I growl through clenched teeth. “I want you to grasp the depth of your depravity.”
“It’s not like that! They just… they provide a service. You can’t blame me for what they do.”
“And what about the girls? The ones who said no? What about Marissa?”
Elias swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with fear as he realizes the game has changed. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie to me, Elias,” I growl, my voice cold as ice. “Tell me what happens to the girls who say no, or I will make you wish you were never born.”
He shakes his head wildly, but I can see the truth in his eyes. I grab onto his limp genitalia and twist it hard enough to elicit a high-pitched scream from him.
“Indigo!” Malik barks.
I shoot him a warning glare over my shoulder. “Don’t look, baby,” I purr.
“You’re a fucking pedophile and you know it. You prey on young, impressionable girls who just want a better life,” I say as I tighten my grip on his dick.
With one swift motion, I plunge the knife into his penis, destroying the very organ he used to hurt so many others. He screams in agony as blood sprays across the cold concrete floor. Malik turns away, gagging as he leans against the wall. I can't blame him; this is not pretty. But neither were the lives Elias ruined.
“That,” I say conversationally as I hold up his bloody trophy for him to see, “is for Marissa and all the other girls whose lives you ruined.”
His screams are music to my ears as I drop his discarded cock onto him. It bounces grotesquely off his still-heaving chest before falling to the floor. I wipe the bloodied knife on a handkerchief before tucking it back into my bag.
“Now,” I say, my voice cold as I lean in close to whisper in his ear, “tell me everything you know about your friends who find your victims.”
Elias whimpers, his eyes full of fear as he stares up at me. “They... they're from all over the country,” he manages to gasp out between pants. “They... they fly them out... makes it harder to track.”
He blubbers out more names and cities, desperate to appease me and end the pain. I listen intently, committing each detail to memory. This information will be passed on to Brandon, whowill make sure these monsters are brought to justice—one way or another.
But for now, my focus is on Elias. He has spilled his secrets, but he still owes for his crimes.
I walk over to my bag, retrieving a blowtorch. His eyes widen in terror as he realizes what's next.
“Do you know what you are now, Elias?” I ask him softly as I crouch down so that our eyes meet. “You’re a cautionary tale.”
The flame ignites with a sharp hiss, casting an orange glow over the rusted surroundings. I watch him—his entire body goes stiff, his eyes locked on the flame.
I move the flame closer to his exposed body, keeping it steady as the heat begins to sear the edges of his flesh. The first hiss of burning skin fills the air, and his whole body jerks violently.
“Please…” His voice is a broken whisper, but I ignore it.
I move the torch down his chest, the flame flickering and dancing, leaving behind raw, blistered patches. His cries are muffled by his own ragged breathing, but I can see the terror on his face as the pain becomes unbearable. He starts to thrash, but the ropes are too tight, too secure.
The blowtorch reaches his stomach, and I move it in a slow, deliberate arc. The flame ignites his flesh, charring it as the scent of burning human skin fills the air. His body goes rigid with shock, a final scream as the heat does its work.
And then, I turn the flame toward his face.
The heat is intense now, a steady, scorching wave of fire that dances over his features. I watch, unmoving, as the skin on his face begins to bubble and blacken, his eyes wide with horror. The fire catches, spreading, and Elias’s mouth opens in a silent scream.
