Endgame (Book 1)

by W. A. R.

  He paled even more so, if that were at all possible. “No…”

  “Yes.” She countered, cutting him off, studying the pair of clamps before turning back to him. “We will make the first question easy, Damien. All you have to do is tell me where my people are.”

  He swallowed back the sobs, able to only choke out some sort of answer. “I…I d…don’t...kn…know…”

  She turned, clamps and scalpel in hand. Her eyes were ablaze, raging with crystalline hues of hatred in their icy blue depths. “Don’t lie to me Damien.” She said, placing both tools in one hand and reaching forward, jerking the knife from its hold on his hand. He cried out in agony.

  “I’m not! I sw…swear…” he stammered, pleading for mercy with every syllable. She sighed, tossing the knife carelessly to the table on his left, her right. She slowly neared him.

  “Alright. Tell me where they are taking them.” She demanded and he felt his blood run cold. He couldn’t tell her that. If he did it would mean death either way. He couldn’t betray them; he wouldn’t give them any more information than he already had. Slowly, fearfully, he shook his head, noting the darkening gleam in her eyes. She cocked her head to the side in maybe amusement and disbelief. “Damien, you might want to answer me if you know what is best for you. Where are they taking them?” she asked once more and again, he shook his head through the burred haze of his mind. She lifted a brow at him, her lips thinning. “Talk.”

  For the last time, he shook his head, curling his fingers into his wounded palm. His entire body trembled at the sight of her. “No.” he told her and oddly enough, she smirked. She was so calm…too calm.

  She never took her eyes from him as she spoke. “Your call. Buddy? George?” she called and two men ambled over purposefully from the fire. The stood on either side of him, angry and radiating the heat of their fury. None of them were uncertain of what they were doing. No; instead, they were determined and prepared. “Hold his mouth open please.” She said and immediately he felt four hands press against his chin and head.

  He struggled as best he could against the pains that stemmed from their previous encounter, trying to cry out for help, for mercy. He watched with widened eyes as Amber readied the clamp. His mind went into a panic and it hurt to breathe. He shook his head violently against his captors but to no avail and before he knew it she held his tongue tightly in the hold of the clamps. He cried, trying to beg her but he knew after everything he had done there was no forgiveness waiting for him.

  “It appears, with your failure to answer me, you either can’t talk or can’t listen. Let’s fix both shall we?” She told him, tightening her hold on the clamps. He watched as she twirled the scalpel in her hand, holding it to the light and watching the light reflect off of it. “Did you know that Van Gogh lived well after off his own ear? Wonder how well you’ll do.” She paused and looked hard at him. “Tell me Damien, do you remember what happened?” she asked and he stared at her with wide-eyed disbelief. Of course he remembered what had happened. He couldn’t answer though, couldn’t even think of answering. She turned her cold eyes to him. “Was it painful?” she asked and again he couldn’t answer. Yes, it was painful. The most painful thing he had ever endured but he knew she wasn’t talking about his pain. She was talking about her own. He had messed up. He had fucked with the wrong family and now he was at the mercy of a tortured and unforgiving soul. He whimpered slightly, but it didn’t seem to surprise her. Instead, she leaned forward, pulling tighter on the clamps that held his tongue and met his stare straight on. “Allow me to tell you what I remember.” She told him leaning back and bringing the scalpel to his tongue. The sharp blade rested against the muscle and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as just the little pressure she applied caused him to taste his own blood.

  “Uh uh…” he begged of her, opening his eyes and striving to reach that compassionate part of her. He wanted to reach out to the woman that would never have done what she was going to do. The look in her eyes grew hotter as she narrowed her eyes at him and he knew that he and his people had corrupted her and there was no escaping his debt. With one last look at him, he saw the tears fill her eyes, reminding him of the agony he had caused her.

  “Let me express to you my pain.”