Page 150 of With A Little Luck
I need more.
We just have to switch positions because I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself up.
Hartley retracts his teeth and licks over the bite on my shoulder. “You’re all mine, beautiful.”
He’s right, and that thought fills my entire being with joy.
The only thing that could make this moment better would be to have Trigg here with us, but I’m going to get him to sink his teeth in as soon as he gets home.
Chapter Forty-Six
Trigg
Being willing to kill does not mean someone will be adept at torture. Much like Hartley learned what he was capable of when Quincy was in danger, many humans would be surprised at what they would be willing to do to protect someone they love.
Some of us have an innate understanding of who we are from a young age, while others hone the skill through military service or just a hard life in general.
Perhaps when I get home, I’ll have another conversation with Hartley about the difference between cold-blooded murder and self-defense. After all, we’re friends now, and I don’t want him needlessly feeling guilty. Even if he had killed the assailant when he threw that brick, it would have qualified as self-defense.
I can’t imagine anyone losing sleep over protecting themselves or someone they love. The type of agony that I’m currently inflicting is a very different story. Even those who are comfortable committing murder do not necessarily have the constitution required for hours of torture.
It’s a bloody, smelly, thankless job.
Although many of us, I would imagine, have done our time in a basement here or there. It was one of the first requirements mymentor imposed, but that goes back to the boss ordering around their minions.
Why do the dirty work yourself if you can delegate it to your underlings?
“You’re going to kill him if you’re not careful,” Easton says, sounding especially unbothered by the prospect. He came in an hour ago, but up until this point, he’s stayed silent, simply monitoring my progress.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not an amateur.”
The muffled screaming is beginning to give me a tension headache.
I’d love to be able to push my glasses up, but my hands are bloody, and it would be an ordeal anyway. The safety goggles ensure my glasses won’t fall off and land in a puddle of bodily fluids. They also catch any spray that may land on my face, but I would have to remove them completely to adjust my glasses.
Perhaps I should do a little searching for a pair that can accommodate those of us without perfect vision.
If Ridge were here, I would ask him for an assist. That, or allow him to take over while I situated my glasses.
This was supposed to be a bonding opportunity.
He’s now permanently connected to my soulmate, and I thought it would be an olive branch to invite him to watch while I worked. However, he scoffed at the prospect and chose to nap instead.
This is why I don’t bother trying to make connections with people. It’s like I’m back in elementary school when no one wanted to let me sit at their lunch table. There’s no point in making friends.
I’ll simply keep Ridge alive because of his connection to Quincy. He and I can be packmates, but that doesn’t mean we have to be friends.
My annoyance causes me to push a little too firmly, and the drill goes through David’s forearm.
“Not an amateur, but entirely too emotionally involved to be here right now.” Easton shoves off the wall, coming closer.
“Take another step closer, and I will bury this drill bit in your eye.” I frown.
That was a bit extreme.
Perhaps Ridge did hurt my feelings by refusing my offer.
Refocusing on my prisoner, I reverse the setting to pull the machine from his arm. “Costa isn’t on his way to save you. You’re going to die here either way. Wouldn’t you rather put a quick end to the suffering?”
