Page 117 of Serpent & Saviors

“What a terrible day to have two eyes, hm? Come on, Cameron. Open up. It will be your last chance to see anything,” I said as Alek notched his head in my direction.

“Please, no,” Cameron croaked.

Alek’s hand closed on his jaw, making him look up into his face. “Look at us with your one good eye. All of us. We will be the last thing you ever see in this world.”

Fear has a stench, and this room now reeked of it. Over the blood and the sweat—he stank of it. Pure, pungent fear. His remaining eye, terrified and trembling, flicked between the three of us standing over him. It passed over each of our faces, as if looking for the one of us that might show him mercy. It didn’t find any. Satisfied, Alek dug out the second eye as well.

I clenched my teeth, ears ringing with screams so piercing they physically hurt. This one he let dangle from the socket before he crushed the eyeball beneath his boot into a disgusting, bloodied paste against the side of the man’s face.

The sight was enough to almost turn even my stomach, but I swallowed the impulse. The empty sockets were dark and bloodied, just rings of muscle in hollowed-out darkness.

We let the bastard writhe at our feet. Cameron was hyperventilating now, shaking from head to toe and sweating profusely. That he was still conscious was impressive—and unfortunate for him. I snapped my fingers near his ear, trying to get his attention. With blood pouring down his face, the pathetic mess moved on the floor, his mangled hands trying to cover his face.

“Evie, don’t give up. We’re not quite done just yet. For all the times you called my girl vile and hateful names, you’ll sacrifice your tongue. I know the girls made sure it was marked, but it’s actually got to go. I didn’t expect they would do that, so be thankful that it’s probably numb by now.”

His responding moan was a pathetic plea. “Don’t,” he begged, “don’t—”

“What a pathetic choice of last words.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sobbing like a baby.

I’m sorry.

Those were the words that made my blood boil. With the first genuine show of remorse we’d heard tonight, I repaid him by kicking the bastard soundly in the ribs.

“Get the fucking pliers, Pasha, and get ready,” I snapped, the order whip-sharp.

The boy nodded dutifully and stood at the ready as Ivan and Bash pinned the man down. Sorry. The word leeched into my head like poison and burned in my veins.

“Think of this like I’m doing you a favor,” I told him. “The finale will go better for you if you can’t fucking talk. I’m sorry,” I mimicked, before turning to Ivan. “Did you bring it?”

“I did. But it can only be presented if he passes.”

Pasha’s head snapped up, intuition telling him we were speaking about him. “Well, he’s about ready to prove himself worthy.” I turned and looked into his two different colored eyes and barely saw a trace of the boy he was a year and a half ago. “Mouth or cock?” I tilted my head to the side.

“Huh?” he asked, blinking wildly and then looking at the others.

“Mouth or cock? It’s what I ask Victoria every night before she goes to sleep.”

“Um, I prefer pussy and I’m not feeling sleepy,” he stated.

Laughter erupted from the guys, and Alek’s face radiated approval already.

“Oh, you mean body part for him. Technically, since I’m still a virgin in this realm, let’s start slow. I’ll work my way up to cocks.” He winced a little and moved to cover the front of his pants.

Making Cameron open his mouth was no struggle. A little leverage on his fingers, and his lips opened right up with a vibrant yell. He twisted around stubbornly, but I was too quick. With the pliers, I snagged his tongue without missing. Cameron’s attempts to pull it back were useless as we held him steady. His bloodied face was distorted and twisted, and wordless cries came from the back of his throat.

“Start at the back,” Ivan instructed Pasha, handing him a blade. He nodded studiously.

The sharp little ridges of the blade dug through wet, writhing muscle, and little by little, his tongue began to give way. Pasha sawed at it without flinching as blood gushed out from his lips and gargled in his throat as he screamed and choked. Pasha notched his head at me, chest puffed. Finally, the severed piece of tongue came free with the pliers. I held it up like a trophy.

Alek took it and violently shoved the bloody tongue back into Cameron’s open, screaming mouth, between his red-stained teeth.

“You fucking disgust me. I vote aye on the Dancer.”

Cameron’s sobs came out pitiful and weak. He spat his severed tongue out onto the floor in a puddle of blood. I rose to my feet. We were all bloodied now, our clothes and hands red, and flecks of blood dotted our faces.

“You did well.” Ivan pulled Pasha in for a bear hug. “Aye,” he added, officially giving his vote.