• twenty-three •

“I didn’t know you’d come down for playtime.”

King

Churchill Millroe barely lifted his head to stare at me through his swollen and busted face as I entered the underground cell he had been kept in for the past eight days. This wasn’t my first visit down to see him. I’d been the one to break his nose and all ten of his fingers—one by one—and pull out five of his teeth. The more brutal stuff had been Thatcher, but we’d all had a go at him. It was amazing how much torture the human body could withstand before finally giving up.

“Kill me,” he begged—or at least, that was what I thought he’d said.

It was hard to decipher after I took out so many of his teeth. But Thatcher had sliced off the tip of his tongue, and that really hindered his speech.

He had stopped asking why, pleading for his life, his attempts at bribing, threatening—all the different phases a man went through while being strapped up and tortured. He cried silently most of the time now. I leaned a shoulder against the concrete column and crossed my arms over my chest as I studied him. This past week had been a living hell for him. It wasn’t nearly long enough. That was the only reason he was still alive. I wasn’t satisfied yet. I was wondering if I ever would be.

The more I got to know Rumor and realized how he’d abused her so deeply, the more I found myself being drawn back down here. To make him scream in pain. Hear him wail and beg. If he hadn’t abused his wife, he’d probably be able to live. Sure, we would have taken his fingers or an ear. Maybe his balls. But once we had all our money, he’d have been set free. Living in fear for the rest of his life that we’d return, but still living.

“She’s better. Smiling,” I told him. “She’s got the best damn laugh. I don’t get to hear it often, but when I do, it’s worth it.”

I walked over to the pack of cigarettes that Thatcher had left and tapped one out of the package. I wasn’t a smoker. Not really. I had one every once in a while when drinking, but I didn’t need them.

I was lighting one up because back when Churchill could still speak and wasn’t weeping all the time, he had shared his disgust with Thatcher’s smoke in his face. We all made sure to smoke down here. Leaving the air thick with the stench when we left. His eyes were almost closed from the battering, but I knew he was watching me. I smirked, then took a pull before walking over to blow the smoke directly in his face. He no longer winced. I doubted he had much control of his expressions anymore.

“She stood at the top of the stairs, listening, when we came in your house,” I told him, smiling at the memory. “Sweet thing heard what we said to you. She knew you were in trouble. I didn’t let her see me watching her, of course. I didn’t want to scare her. I figured she’d already been through enough that day, seeing as her pretty face was all beat up.” I took the cigarette from between my teeth before I ended up biting off the tip.

“Then, she hid. I didn’t check the closet in your bedroom because I knew that was where she had run to. I didn’t want to find her. She was fucking terrified. Hell, we weren’t real sure what to do with her. Would she call the cops when we left? Would she call 911? We had no idea.” I took a long pull and chuckled. “But, damn, I didn’t expect to see her running out of that house with a suitcase and speeding away. Leaving you bleeding out on the floor. I was so goddamn amused that I laughed for the first hour I followed her. The farther away she got, the more I liked her. She was a fighter. She had gotten a chance to escape you, and she took it. Good girl,” I said, praising her.

He made a sound, or maybe he was trying to talk. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t give a fuck either. I leaned back on the column again and took a few pulls, watching him there. Barely breathing. Gasping every few minutes. It calmed the fury inside me when I thought of all he’d done to Rumor.

“You had a prime piece of ass. She’s completely out of your league,” I told him. “Is that it? You knew she was too good for you? Could your pointless ego not handle it? Knowing men saw her and wanted her. Was it not enough that she’d married you?”

“Thhhubid bish,” he spat out.

I straightened and took three long strides until I was inches from his face. “What did you just call her?” I asked, taking the cigarette and shoving the tip into his eye as he began to scream.

“Neither of those words apply to Rumor,” I sneered.

“I didn’t know you’d come down for playtime,” Thatcher drawled behind me.

I left the cigarette sticking in his eye as I turned to look back at him. “Figured he’d be dead soon. I wanted to get my fill.”

Thatcher walked over to the cigarettes. “Please, continue. Don’t let me stop you. I’ll watch.”

I nodded toward the plyers. “Toss me those.”

Thatcher picked them up. “I hope you tucked in our sweet little Rumor the other night. Sebastian should have warned her Minna’s margaritas are three-fourths tequila.”

I caught the plyers and grinned. “She was fine the next morning. I made sure of it before I left.”

“Good to hear,” he said before sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

When I turned back to Churchill, he was definitely looking at me, but with only one eye. The ash was jammed inside the other eye, and I could no longer see it. I wanted him to know she was enjoying life. Being taken care of properly. That while he was experiencing hell on earth before he burned in the real one, Rumor was starting anew.

“They’re saying you drained your financial accounts and fled the country,” I told him. “No one knows where, and there is even speculation that you killed your wife and hid. She can’t be found either. Sweet Carmella Millroe’s beatings were found on the video surveillance you’d kept in your home. How arrogant was that? You knew it was recording your abuse, and you didn’t fear anyone would ever find it. But don’t worry yourself. We made sure both our visits to your house were wiped clean before anyone else saw the tapes. It’s even been said that your wife might have been the one who shot you and you killed her in revenge before fleeing. The nurse and cook who had been at your house when you escaped never saw who it was that tied them up. They can’t be sure if it was you or not.”

A tremor ran through his body, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or if it was from anger. He’d lost. He would die, and no one would know how or where. Rumor would get a new life. She could start over.

“Now, open wide,” I demanded, jamming the plyers into his mouth and clamping down on one of the few molars left. “I wonder if you’ll even bleed that much this time. You’re so pale. Blood loss will do that to you.”

Thatcher laughed from the stool he had taken a seat on across the room. “Finish with his teeth, and I’ll cut off his dick and shove it in his mouth.”

This time, when Churchill Millroe’s body trembled, I knew it was from the fear.