Page 104 of Scarred in Silence
Blood pools fast, thick, and dark. He sobs, shuddering.
“Make it stop,” he begs.
“Oh, it’s only just started,” I whisper.
She steps in closer. Her voice is calm. Serene.
“Skin him.”
I glance at her. “You sure?”
“I want him raw,” she says, eyes locked on the ruin of a man at my feet. “I want him to feel every second before the end.”
My spine straightens. There’s something sacred about that kind of command. It’s usually Dante’s go-to torture method.
I slice down his side, careful and methodical. He’s choking, muffling his screams. Blood slicks my gloves, sticky and hot. The scent of copper floods the room. Strip by strip, I take him apart. Shoulders, arms, chest. Peeling him down like rotting wallpaper until he’s a trembling sack of meat.
Astra kneels beside me, watching. Her hand finds mine and squeezes it. She doesn’t look away.
“This is for the party,” she whispers. “For the video. For the silence you forced on me.”
His voice is nothing but gargled moans now.
A dumpster fire shackled to the floor.
I finish the last strip from his thigh, then grab the blowtorch from the bench behind me. It hisses when I ignite it.
He hears that.
He sobs harder, barely living anymore.
“I want him to know this pain before he dies,” Astra says softly.
I nod and press the flame close. It never touches him, but the heat makes him scream anyway. Skinless nerves are fickle. They scream before the fire even gets started.
He passes out once. I bring him back with smelling salts and a punch to the ribs.
“You don’t get to die easy,” I snarl.
Finally, I offer her the gun.
She looks down at it, then at him. There’s something unreadable in her face. Not mercy. Not quite vengeance, either. Something deeper. Ancient.
She hands the pistol back to me.
“No,” she says. “You do it.”
“You sure?”
She nods.
“I already killed him,” she whispers. “I just want to watch him disappear.”
I raise the gun and press it to what’s left of his chest.
“I hope Hell makes you watch it on repeat.”
Ipull the trigger.
