Damaged Goods

“It’s Otsana,” I corrected weakly, the guys looking between us suspiciously. “He’s been in the shop a couple times the last few weeks.”

“And why is that?” Kyrell asked, his calm voice terrifying as he leaned into the man’s face.

“Last chance, give us something or regret it,” Killian said slowly, and the man began laughing openly. “What were you doing there?”

“Watching her. She’s got a hefty price on that pretty head of hers,” he taunted, all of us freezing at the news.

“We’re going to need a few more details, or I can start carving now,” Ky said, staring him down. The guy changed then, his smug silence fading to pure arrogance, his silence a challenge that I doubted he was tough enough to survive. “Otsana, Princess, please grab something off of the wall for me. Your choice,” Keir directed as Killian drew aside a curtain and tied it back, exposing a wall full of interrogation equipment. Instead of feeling nauseous or worried, I felt right at home, the sadistic side to my brain coming out as I grabbed a personal favorite… my hunting knife from my boot, ignoring their goodies. Keir didn’t mind; in fact, the hunger and appreciation in his eyes told me I’d done well. I saluted him with my knife and turned toward our prisoner.

Ever since my first kills, it had become a favorite. To me, feeling safe and strong while holding a knife was much more normal than cozying into a blanket for comfort. Once the smooth handle was in my fingers, I turned. A small smile played across my lips as I sauntered over, locking eyes on the man who’d invaded my privacy, making a mockery of my safe space.

“I should have taken you when I had the chance. We were alone in that store; it would have been so easy to overpower you. I should have fucked some Lach into you, showed you what you’re missing with these pencil dicked fucks.” His words were met with a hit straight to his eye as Keir popped up out of nowhere. He was bound by his torso to the chair, so his head snapped back painfully at the impact, the man screaming in pain. When Keir stepped away, the man raised his head, right eye already swelling shut and purple.

“Pencil dick?” Killian taunted, whipping his dick out and running his hand over it until he was hard. “Does this look small to you? You look like the vulnerable one here. Maybe I should tie you up and fuck some respect into you?” The threat was empty, I was pretty sure, but the man didn’t know that. Kill stepped forward and slammed his hand into the man’s throat when he laughed, squeezing until the man struggled, then releasing pressure. Before Keir pulled away fully, he slammed a fist into our guest’s nose, blood covering his hand and the man’s face when he stepped away.

Killian looked unhinged and psychotic as he rubbed his dick, circling the man like a shark out for blood, not even caring that the hand he was using was covered in his victim’s blood. Knowing my guys, that’s an added part of the appeal. It was kind of hot, their blatant dominance and darkness sucking me in easily, a match for my own.

“Fuck you,” the man spat, but there was a waver in his voice. “They said you were fucking nuts, but now I believe it.”

“They are,” I said, directing his attention back to me, “but so am I. I promise, you wouldn’t have gotten far.” I said, holding the knife out to Keir, but he waved me off with a smirk.

“Nope, I want to see my queen at work,” he said. Walking away, he leaned against the wall, the other two joining him. Killian was still openly jacking off as he watched me work, and the party hadn’t even really begun.

My psycho men giving up a torture session was huge, and now I had no qualms about hurting the man who’d just threatened to rape me. Who needs diamonds when you’ve got a present all nicely tied up like this?

“Tell me… who shot at me today? And who broke

into my store?” I asked, but my “friend” was still making poor choices, the amusement in his eyes betraying that he still wasn’t taking me seriously. I think he’s forgetting which of us is sitting here with a puffy jaw and a swollen eye, but I’ll gladly remind him of those and add some new marks.

“I don’t know,” he said, defiance in his voice like a petulant child, but I was unfazed by his resistance, knowing this wasn’t going to end at all good for him.

“Okay, let me go ahead and give you all the ways I can use this little knife.” I held it up so it gleamed in the light, the serrated edge clamoring for me to paint it red. “I could cut off fingers, stab into joints, carve our names into your skin. Hmmm… nah, those are too tame for you. You’re a tough guy, aren’t you?”

The guys chuckled darkly behind me as I circled him, enjoying myself far too much. There was something so relaxing about slow torture, breaking the victim’s will and pulling information with each swell of blood. That feeling of raw, violent power that settled over you when you knew that you were safe; you were the most fearsome one in the room.

“Since you thought you could use it against me, maybe I should cut your dick off?” With that, I let my knife casually run over his lap, digging in as I raised it higher, brushing over his dick. “Maybe I could carve you down to a pencil-dick like you were accusing them of having? That does have some fun potential,” I mused, my voice breathy as I flicked my gaze up to see all of my guys, dicks out, watching me with hooded eyes. I know what’ll be happening later. He squirmed, trying and failing to make himself sink into the chair.

“You’re fucking crazy too!” he yelled, spittle hitting my face and making me cringe. Without thought, I brought my knife down on his bound forearm, stabbing it down to the bone. He screamed, the sound loud and echoing in the small space, but it was perfect. Hearing the results of my work was a necessary part of the fun.

“You ready to tell me who gave the order to kill me?” I asked again, my voice even as I stepped just out of range of his spit. I swore the man was like a fucking alpaca.

“I don’t know,” he said again, but this time he sounded tired, resigned. Stepping forward, I yanked the knife out of his arm and dropped it on a nearby tray. I walked back to the wall of tools, brushing fingers gently over them before finally picking up a long steel rod.

“Last chance, or we get to have more fun,” I offered, my smile growing. I mean, I’m winning no matter which way this goes. The guys were looking on in pure psychotic bliss, staring at me like I’d hung the moon and stars. With no response from my prisoner, I blew them a kiss and swung the rod down into his shoulder, the resulting crunch of bone and wail of agony making me shiver. I felt carefree and relaxed, a weightlessness coming over me that I hadn’t experienced for the last however many years. Long before coming here. I had the decency to be loyal to those who deserved it and kept torture as a tactic only when necessary, like now, so it had been a long time since I’d gotten to feed these particular hungers of mine. And I’m starving for it.

“Stop! You know it was the fucking Lachs. We’re coming for this shitty family!” he screeched, and I dropped the rod, letting him think for even just that moment that maybe this was all over. A wicked smile took over my face, my victim paling that tiny bit further when he got his glimpse.

“Insulting the Family? You thought that would help you?” I asked, grabbing a sharpened cleaver from the wall. He fought violently against the braces, tugging ruthlessly, but he should’ve known it would be pointless. The braces were made so his fingers curled around the front of the armrests, giving me the perfect place to use my weapon.

“Stop! It was an order from higher up! We couldn’t just refuse!”

“Then tell me whose hand was thrown into my shop. Who did you kill?” I asked, pausing with my arm in the air, ready for my next taste of his pain.

“A hand doesn’t mean he’s dead,” he said, spitting on me again.

“Fair,” I said, wiping my face off with the back of my hand before striking, cutting his hand clean off with a strong slam of the cleaver. I knew how to aim for just the right spot, coating myself in the splatter of blood. A gasp, bordering on a moan bubbled out when the red spray hit my skin, my entire body keyed up now. I felt like I could take on the world and win, adrenaline and excitement electrifying my system.

The man trembled, tears running down his face as he slipped his mutilated arm out of the now useless brace and cradled the bleeding nub close to his body.