Page 103 of Wrapped in Perfection

More tears fall.

"I'm going to remove this gag for a moment. If you scream, my brother will cut your tongue out. He'll enjoy every second of it."

Mitch glances up at Boris, who looks down at him, smiling, itching to do what I just suggested. Then he pisses his pants.

That was quick. Normally happens a little further in.

"You just pissed yourself," Boris tells him calmly, as if he could go change his pants.

"Are you ready? Remember, the minute you scream, your tongue goes." He whimpers, and I slowly pull the gag off his mouth.

"Tell me what you want from me," he demands, but his voice cracks.

Boris pets his head, and Mitch squeezes his eyes shut. The blade of his knife digs deeper into the skin on his cheek. Blood drips off his chin.

"You will never contact her again. You will never threaten her again. You won't even say her name again. If you do, I'm coming after you. Next time, I won't be so nice." I point at Boris. "I won't allow him to be nice, either."

Hatred flares in Mitch's eyes. He wants to tell me to fuck off. I can see it. And I push him to the point where he does.

"She's mine. She'll never be yours again."

"Fuck you," he mumbles.

Unlike Boris, I don't stay calm. I take my hand and slap his cheek that doesn't have the blade against it, crushing his face into the sharp metal's edge.

He screams in pain. But it's okay. We already know his neighbors aren't home. But I put the rag back in his mouth. He chokes, but I secure it with a new piece of tape.

"No one can hear you. And just like she screamed for you to stop, but you didn't, I'm not going to, either."

He looks at me with a mix of fear and confusion.

I rise and pick up the skillet then turn, tracing the edge with my finger. "Remember this?"

Mitch's eyes tell me everything, and my stomach flips. It's a cast-iron skillet. It's heavy. It probably took two hands for her to pick it up when something was in it, maybe even when it was empty. And he battered her with it, as if she was a fly he needed to swat and kill. But he also bruised her where no one would see it.

I nod to Boris.

He smiles and licks his lips. He takes the rope on the counter, laces it under Mitch's armpits, then ties a knot in the back. He threads the end through the twelve-inch eyelet hook he installed earlier.

I release Mitch's legs, and he attempts to kick me, so I slap him again. He cries, but I know it's nothing compared to how he's about to sob.

Boris releases the rope around the chair but leaves his hands tied behind his back. Mitch stands, which only helps put him in the position we want him in faster. Boris pulls on the rope until Mitch is dangling on his tiptoes and shaking from fear.

I step closer. "When you broke her ribs, you didn't fracture them. You split them apart. It's only fair I do the same to you, don't you think?"

He tries to scream again, and Boris steps behind him and leans into his ear, petting his head. "Shhh."

It makes Mitch freak out more. His body flails everywhere, but Boris has the rope tight in his hand.

I glance at Boris, and he steps back, tightening the rope even more so Mitch can't move as much.

I step several feet back and hold the skillet like a baseball bat. Then I swing it as hard as I can into his rib cage.

A cracking sound fills the air.

That's what it sounded like when he mercilessly battered Anna.

How loud did she cry or beg for him to stop before she passed out?

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