Page 10 of Watch Me Burn
The bolt cutters bite through the flesh and bone of his index finger. The wet, grinding sound carries through the basement. Julian’s scream splits the air, high and desperate, the sound of a man discovering what real pain means. Blood sprays across my black shirt, warm droplets soaking into the fabric in patterns that look almost artistic. My pulse kicks up, heat spreading through my chest and down my arms.
“That was for Diablo.” I collect the severed digit, tossing it onto the workbench. “The jaguar you starved for two weeks before his final fight.”
His middle finger is next. Julian’s eyes bulge until the whites show all around, veins standing out on his forehead like rope beneath his skin. When the metal shears through the bone, his head whips back and forth, the tendons in his neckgoing taut. The howl that rips from his throat hits something deep inside me, satisfying a craving that nothing else touches.
“That’s for the pregnant lynx you forced into the pit.”
Julian’s consciousness wavers as I work through my list—each animal he tortured earning him the loss of a finger, each crime extracted from his body piece by piece. The smelling salts become necessary when his mind tries to shut down, tries to flee into unconsciousness. I snap the capsule under his nose, dragging him back to the present. He doesn’t get to escape. The creatures in his arena never got that mercy.
“Do you know what the beautiful thing about pain is?” I select a serrated blade from my collection. “How it clarifies priorities. All those things that seemed important before—money, power, reputation—they become meaningless when you’re drowning in agony.”
I drag the knife across his chest, the blade parting skin like scissors through silk. Blood wells up in the cut’s wake, a deep red line that blooms wider. The wound goes deep enough to sear nerve endings but misses anything vital. He needs to feel this.
His body jerks against the chains, metal rattling against metal. Fresh waves of pain hit him, and broken sobs rip from his throat. The sounds are raw and animal-like, and my pulse hammers harder. My fingers clench around the knife handle as his tears cut tracks through the filth coating his face, mixing with the crimson mess until everything runs together. Each gasping breath, each whimpered plea pays down a debt owed to creatures who never got the chance to beg.
I bring my face close to his, the mask filling his field of vision. “You’re going to die slowly, piece by piece, just like those cats did. And when you’re begging for death, I’m going to remind you about every innocent animal that suffered because of your greed.”
The next hour is a masterpiece of controlled violence. My pulse hammers against my throat as I carve justice into Julian’s flesh, keeping him balanced on the knife’s edge between consciousness and oblivion.
Blood roars in my ears with each slice of the blade, my hands steady as electricity crawls up my spine, every nerve ending alive with purpose. I reach for my mini blowtorch. Sweat trickles down my temples as I drag the flame across his skin, the smell of burning flesh filling my nostrils. Each burn, each cut becomes an offering to the beautiful creatures he destroyed.
The tiger cubs born in captivity and killed for sport, the elderly cougar who lasted three minutes against a younger opponent, and the beautiful snow leopard who died of infected wounds because veterinary care cut into profits.
When Julian is more blood than man, his consciousness hanging by a thread, I lift the silver mask from my face. Cool air hits my sweat-slicked skin as his battered eyes fight to focus. Recognition dawns behind the blood and swelling, his pupils dilating with fresh terror.
“Damien… Wolfe?” Blood foams at the corners of his mouth with each syllable.
“My Luna could have healed all of them if given the chance, but she’ll never know about them or you because it would make her cry. And for that, you’ll burn in hell.”
I grab his hair, forcing his head back as I reach for my knife again. I drive the blade through his left eye. It enters with a soft pop and a whisper of resistance before sliding home. His body jerks once, twice, then hangs limp from the chains.
My breathing sounds thunderous in the sudden quiet. I step back, wiping the blade on my sleeve. My breathing slows. The knife handle is warm and slick in my palm. For the first time tonight, my shoulders relax, and my jaw unclenches.
I pull out my phone and dial Cade. “Come and get him.”
“On my way down.”
Cade’s footsteps echo on the stairs a minute later. His eyes sweep the room, pausing on the crimson spatter on my clothes and across the wall, the still-warm body suspended in the center. He reaches into his pocket for latex gloves, his fingers sliding into them before reaching up and releasing Pembroke’s wrists from the chains.
“Messier than usual.”
“He deserved it.” I’m already stripping off my blood-soaked clothes, stuffing them into the incinerator bag. I check my watch and curse. “Fuck. Luna is probably asleep.”
I hate having to wake her up, but I need her. She’s the only peace I can hope for.
“Then you better get moving. Wouldn’t want to keep the doctor waiting.”
His tone carries an edge that makes my head whip toward him, especially after our conversation today, but his expression reveals nothing, other than a slight tightness around his eyes.
“Problem?”
“Just curious how you compartmentalize this.” He gestures at Julian’s corpse. “How you go from torturing a man to death to whatever it is you do with her? She appears unharmed, but how do you shake off this violence when you put your hands on her?”
It’s not difficult. The violence satisfies one part of me, while Luna feeds another. I can’t survive without either of them now, but I don’t expect Cade to understand that.
“I’ve been compartmentalizing for twenty-five years,” I remind him.
“Not like this. Not with someone you…”
