Chapter 33: A new catch

Auren

I dig my teeth into my lower lip, as I walk out of the room without looking back. Ugh, she's a temptation, and she knows it.

I rake my hand through my hair biting back a curse that's about to spill.

I shouldn't have given in.

I shouldn't have kissed her.

Fuck it.

I swallow my building frustration, as I walk back outside.

Raze immediately joins me as he sees me approaching the car that's parked outside.

"What's the news?" I ask.

"We've found another of Rheagar's men. We've tried all we could, but we couldn't get him to talk. We're thinking maybe you'd be able to force him to talk."

My mind goes a little blank as an image of Asha temporarily pops up in my head. Her wide heterochromic eyes hypnotize me for some weird reason.

Raze keeps rambling, but I can't hear anything he says. My mind keeps replaying her soft lips, her warm breath, her soft tongue that kept doing wonders to my veins—

"Boss?" Raze's voice breaks my train of thoughts.

I blink, returning  to the present. A man is sitting beneath the car, his hands, and legs bound. He raises his head to look at me, a crooked smirk plastered on his face.

"Do you think he will make me tell you anything?" He scoffs, "I ain't talking. I'd rather die."

Damn Rheagar's men. What does he do that makes them so loyal?

Tch.

I stoop to his level, looking him in the eye, "You don't have to prolong this. Just start talking."

He spits at my face, "Fuck you! I'm not talking!" He roars.

Aidan quickly fishes for a pocketknife, and slashes it at the right side of his cheek, inflicting a deep cut on  it.

"Speak with some respect!" He yanks his hair back, causing his head to hit the car.

"Oh my, be gentle with him now," I subtly clean my nose, "We wouldn't want him dead before he says anything, would we?" I bring out a lighter from my pocket.

The injured man heaves, then spits out blood, "Bastard! No wonder Rheagar hates you so much. You're too full of yourself; it makes me sick to the stomach," a mocking scoff leaves his lips, then a laugh of sheer mockery.

My insides flame up with rage with how easily he mocks me. He must see me as some sort of teenage bad boy whose face would fall when he's not getting to his desired goal.

Unfortunately for him, I'm not the king of the underworld for nothing.

"What's this fucker's name?" I flick the lighter on, drawing the object close to my face.

"His name is Derek," Raze replies.

I tilt my head slightly, still looking at the flame that's slowly dancing under the gentle breeze.

Whoosh.

It dies out.

"Dear Derek," I meet his eyes, "You must have tortured a lot of men, right? I guess you had a really fun time doing so," I grab his left leg, "Must have felt good, I presume?" I smile not quite reaching my eyes.

"You think torture will make me talk?" He throws his head back, his shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.

This one's a psychopath.

I flick the lighter back on, then impossibly tighten my grip on his foot, "It's been a while since I smelled the delicious aroma of burnt flesh," I smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

He tries to jerk back, but he hits his head against the door of car, causing him to curse out in pain. The ropes that bind his hands and feet are not helping matters.

"You must have laughed out loud whenever the enemy captive screamed in pain," I singe his pinky toe.

He stifles back a scream, his face breaking out in a cold sweat.

"I'm still saying nothing," he curses at me, "You want to burn me alive? Then do it."

"Oh please. You can't be that loyal to Rheagar," I press the flame to the sole of his feet.

He yelps in agony, trying to kick at me but my grip on his feet is stronger than his breaking will.

"Come on, tell me where Rheagar is. That loser, Bran, had said he went south with the rest of his men. Where in the south? I don't have that time to waste looking all over for him."

I press the flame against his toenails, and drag it across the five toenails.

He curls his toes, throwing his head backward in agony, his pupils are blown wide, his face is dripping with sweat.

"Save me the time, and save yourself this pain," I sigh softly.

"Never! Fuck you, bastard! I'm never giving into—"

Aidan slashes the pocketknife across his face again, cutting through his nose, and upper lip.

"Goodness, Aidan, you have too much zeal," Raze hits his shoulder not so lightly, "Let the boss continue with what his doing."

Aidan steps backwards, giving me a small bow, "I'm sorry boss."

"Now where was I?" I put the lighter back into my pocket.

I stare at Derek who is panting heavily. Blood and sweat mix together on his face, and drips down his neck.

I chuckle at the beautiful sight.

"Get me the pliers," I say, my eyes still on him.

He coughs out a mouthful of blood, and almost chokes.

"Wh- what are you going to do? Gouge out my eyes?" He hisses.

"Oh wow, you have so many torture ideas. Just how many people have you tortured?" I squint my eyes at him.

"You punk!" He tries to yell, but his voice breaks, and he spits out another mouthful of blood.

"Still won't talk?" I stretch my hand and take the pliers from Raze.

"No!" He remains adamant.

"How I'll enjoy breaking you piece by piece," I smack him with the pliers across his jaw.

He groans loudly, coughing out blood again; this time his mouth is all stained with red liquid, adding more color to his already bloodied and sweaty face.

"You really didn't have to go through all this," I click my teeth, "I was ready to let you go, I was ready to negotiate," I lightly tap the pliers on his forehead, "But no, you decided to be defiant. Now that isn't something to be proud of, is it?" It's now my turn to laugh at him mockingly.

"What a cute, little, loyal pet you are," I pat his head.

He doesn't make any more noise except for his occasional heaving, and coughing.

"Still won't talk?" I grit my teeth, my frustration barely slipping through my calm expression.

He still doesn't say anything.

"Okay then," my fingers dig into his hair, and tighten.

I yank his head backwards, prying his mouth open with the pliers.

Aidan comes closer, and forces his mouth open, giving me better access.

I press the pliers down on an incisor; the sound of cracking enamel fills the air.

All the sounds he can make are strangled grunts, and broken moans.

"You asked for this," I laugh softly, and pull out an incisor.

Satisfaction gnaws at my chest as I look at the bloodied tooth between the teeth of the pliers.

Aidan lets go o

f his mouth.

"Still won't ta—"

"I'll talk! I'll talk!"