Page 161 of Undisputed Chaos
I examined the blade under the lights. "And I don't share well with others."
I turned to Jax and Connor, a feral grin spreading across my face.
"Sit back and watch, gentlemen. Noah and I have a lot to discuss."
I rolled my shoulders, cracking my neck. "And I intend to savor every fucking second."
They settled on the metal bench against the wall while I pulled up a metal chair, positioning it directly in front of Noah's suspended form.
His bloodshot eyes tracked my movements, breath coming in ragged gasps as the rope creaked with each involuntary twitch.
"Let's start with the basics," I said, retrieving a pair of needle-nose pliers from my belt. The sharpness gleamed under the lights.
"I'm Adrian. You already know my angel, Isla. And these?" I tapped the pliers against his kneecap. "These are about to become your best friend.”
Noah's head lifted, some of that old arrogance flickering in his bloodshot eyes despite his predicament.
“You... you don't understand," he gasped, his voice hoarse. “She was perfect before you got your hands on her. Sweet, innocent, proper. I was trying to save her from?—"
"From what?" I interrupted, leaning forward with genuinecuriosity.
"From being happy? From being loved? From having the best sex of her life?"
His face contorted with disgust and rage. "From becoming some tattooed freak's whore!" The words exploded out of him, spittle flying.
"Look at what you've done to her! You grab her throat, leave marks on her skin. She used to be a lady, and you turned her into?—"
“Shhh,” I mocked. “We’re just getting started, Noah. Save your voice for the finale.”
The pliers closed around his pinky finger with a satisfying crunch.
His scream cut through his righteous indignation beautifully.
"One!" I sang, holding up the severed digit. “This was for calling my angel a whore."
Noah's chest heaved as he tried to process the pain, but that stubborn, superior expression was already creeping back.
"You think... You think this changes anything?" he panted. "She'll realize what she's lost. What she threw away for a circus act like you."
I laughed, genuinely delighted by his delusion.
"A circus act? Noah, buddy, you're hanging from my ceiling with nine fingers left, and you're still trying to mansplain my girlfriend to me?"
"She was mine first," he insisted, that familiar possessive whine creeping into his voice.
"I knew her when she was still... still clean. Before you corrupted her with your violence and your?—"
His eyes traveled over my tattoos with obvious revulsion. "Your gang markings."
"Gang markings?" Jax snorted from across the room. “Shit, this guy really is from another planet."
Connor remained silent, but I caught the way his lips twitched at Noah's outdated worldview.
“That's your problem, Noah," I said, selecting the next finger with deliberate care. "You think in binary—clean or dirty, proper or improper, yours or not yours."
The pliers closed around his middle finger. "But Isla isn't black and white. She's a colorful fucking masterpiece to be worshipped."
The snap of bone was music to my ears.
