Page 87 of One Flew Over the Omega's Nest: Part One
Can’t say I’m not disappointed since I wanted an excuse to cut him up a bit more, but this will be faster for getting information. I can always have my fun with him after I get what I want.
I mean, the guy literally tried to turn me into a sex slave.
“First question,” I purr, stepping toward him. “How long have you worked here?”
He looks confused, but answers honestly. “Eight years.” I know he’s being truthful because I asked West before he woke up.
“Good job,” I praise, fluttering my lashes, and the asshole actually looks relieved. “Next question. How many women have you taken advantage of and abused the last eight years? And I’m not just talkin’ about patients. Think—Nurse Helaena.”
In that beautiful moment, whatever color was left in his face drains out. “What?” Taintsworth swallows roughly, looking panicked. “What do you mean?”
“Do you expect me to believe that I’m the first woman you’ve tried to bark into submission?” I ask, putting a hand on my hip. “So tell me…how many?”
“They…” he sputters, his body rebelling against his restraints as the panic starts to set in. “They wanted it! You were the only one I had to get creative with!”
“ERRRGH.” I make a buzzer sound. “Wrong answer. Let’s see…what’s the first word we should put on him?”
“Wait!” he cries, but I turn to my guys.
“Any suggestions?”
“Bastard?” Sam suggests dryly.
“Fuckface?” Hayden grins.
“Why don’t you start with your name,Lisichka?” Kole answers. “Start small, work up to it.”
“Now, that is a lovely idea,” I point my blade at him. “We can do both letters since he couldn’t even make it one question without lyin’. Be a doll and make sure he doesn’t wiggle too much? It needs to be legible.”
“I’ll do it.” West surprises me when he speaks. His expression is hard, nothing but burning hatred directed at the alpha we have tied up.
“Why, thank you, Doctor.”
With that, I straddle Taintsworth’s lap again, while West comes around and restrains his thrashing head. “No, please! Wait!”
I start humming to myself as I make the first downstroke of the “J” on his collarbone, letting his cries of pain go to the back of my mind. Whatever he’s experiencing now is only a fraction of what he deserves after what he’s done.
My only regret is that his victims won’t ever know the retribution he’s facing.
Blood drips from the wound, making it hard to see what I’m doing, but then a wadded up wifebeater gets held in front of my face, and I take it without looking, using the material to wipe the blood as I go.
An artist needs to concentrate, after all.
“There.” I grin at the jagged lines of my name on his chest, “Jo”.
He sobs in relief when the cutting stops, and I take his face in my hands again. “Let’s try this again. How. Many. Women?”
“I don’t know,” he cries, snot dripping from his nose. Disgusting. The man has obviously never been trained in withstanding torture. Pathetic. “I…I didn’t count.”
“More than…two a year?” I ask, my voice deceptively calm. Still blubbering, he nods. “Three a year?” He nods. “What does that mean?” I bark, my facade cracking. “Three a year? Or more?”
“Four!” He sobs, his chest heaving as blood from my name drips down his skin. “Maybe four a year, I don’t know!”
Thirty-two.
Thirty-two different women who were taken advantage of by one of the men who was supposed to keep them safe.
“But nobody named Mabel!” he shouts, like that might save him from his punishment.
