Page 108 of Inflict

This wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

Connor tugged the hood from Lachlan’s sweaty head, and let it drop to the ground. The man was still gagged, but at the sight of Connor, he sneered and tried to spit at him, his body moving forward a few inches. He couldn’t go much further than that, considering just the tips of his toes were touching the dirty, damp floor.

“So, we’re going to do this thing,” Connor said, pulling both of his knives out of his back pockets. “And this thing we’re going to do can be easy for you, or very difficult, depending on how it all goes, all right?”

Lachlan glared, but attempted to say nothing behind his gag.

“This knife,” Connor said, holding up the bigger of the two, “will cut through your joints with ease. I can get it in there, pop a wee bit of the cartilage and tendons, and your joint will just fall apart.”

His victim swallowed hard, his gaze darting to the blade.

“Now this one,” Connor said, holding up the slimmer blade with a razor-sharp edge, “will slice your skin like it’s cutting fat from a raw steak. They’ll both hurt, but one will make it quicker, while the other will skin you alive before you can even get the chance to bleed out.”

Connor smiled, stepping back just a bit. “You see, I happen to be exceptionally talented with these knives, and I know each and every spot on your body that will kill you with the right cut. I will miss each and every one of those spots, Lachlan,” he taunted, wanting the man knowing, yet terrified of his skills. “I will slice your skin until it looks like raw meat, until it’s hanging off your very feckin’ bones, and then, I’ll start cutting out your muscles, because it doesn’t bother me. And you know me, don’t you? Watched me since I was a wee lad, under Sean’s feet. You know me—I can do this, and I will.”

For the first time since they had pulled the hood from Lachlan’s head, Connor saw a real glimmer of panic in the man’s eyes. Not necessarily fear, but panic.

“Do you want me to pull out the gag?” Connor asked.

Lachlan nodded once.

Connor pulled the gag out.

The screaming began almost instantly. It was a natural reaction, an attempt to save his life, though it would be entirely useless. Connor rubbed at his temple, the high-pitch noise making his head ache like a drummer was back there beating on his skull. He waited the man’s yelling out, and once it died down, he looked at him again.

“Grand, are you?”

Lachlan spit at him, barely missing him. “Just like your father, Connor.”

“Don’t be offensive. I’m a wee bit different. I don’t hunt women.”

“Yet.”

“Never,” Connor responded in kind, shrugging. “I don’t have that urge—I just like to cut, remember?”

Lachlan’s gaze darted down to the knives in Connor’s hands again. “I don’t know what you want from me, lad. Your father hasn’t called me in two days, and the last time he did, he was in a right fit over your stupid arse. I couldn’t understand a feckin’ thing coming out of his mouth.”

That might be true.

That didn’t mean Lachlan couldn’t help in other ways.

“Tell me what you know about Evelyn,” Connor said quietly.

Lachlan stiffened in his chains. “I don’t have nothing to tell, lad.”

Wrong answer.

Connor stepped forward, taking the thinner of the two knives and putting it to work. Quickly, he shed the man of his dress shirt and pants, cutting them from his body. Then, he drew a pathway from the tip of Lachlan’s sternum down to his naval, the cut moving so quickly it only began to bleed just as Connor withdrew the blade.

The blood splattered to the floor in time with Lachlan’s screams.

“It’s an interesting sight, isn’t it?” Connor asked, nodding at the pooling blood. “Amazes me how much blood a body can hold. You’re about fifty pounds overweight, so I’d say you have a bit more than someone my size. Care to test my theory out?”

Lachlan sputtered, the chains rattling as his body contorted away from the knife when Connor held it out again. “She’s just a wee whore, lad. She isn’t important.”

“Wrong. She’s important to me.”

“Then you’re foolish,” Lachlan spat. “Like your father was—consumed by the look of a lass, chasing after that perfect thing.”