Beauty in the Broken

I still at the phrase, rage clawing through me. If he put his dick in her, he’s definitely dead.

“She said she was tired. I mean, she was hinting, man. When a woman says she’s tired, she wants to go to bed, right? So, I showed her the bedroom, and she started getting all weird.” He saws his teeth over his lip, clearly not eager to carry on.

“Then what?”

“Then I kissed her, and she fucking bit me. She slapped me and scratched me like a wildcat. I tried to calm her down, but she kneed me in the balls and took off.”

That’s my Lina. My Lina. I barely hold it together enough to finish my interrogation. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She ran off in the direction of the main road.”

I narrow my eyes. “Leaving her bags behind.”

“Like I said, she freaked out, man.”

“You touched her.”

He pales. “Damian, please. You’re a man. You know how it is.”

“Do not compare me to you.” I grab his hair and drag him to the counter. “Let me tell you something about how it is. When a woman says she’s tired, it’s because she’s tired. If she says she doesn’t want to fuck you, it’s because she doesn’t want to fuck you. Get it?”

“Yes, yes!” He tries to pry my fingers from his hair.

I grab his wrist and slam it down on the fake marble surface. “Splay your fingers.”

“No! No! What are you doing?”

I take a meat knife from the block. “Do as I say, or you’ll lose all five.”

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck. No, man. I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut up. Let this be a valuable lesson and be glad it’s only one.”

He falls down, using his weight to try and pull free.

“Splay them, Phil.”

He slobbers like a puppy, crying and spluttering incoherent words, hanging off the side of the counter.

“Your choice.” I position the knife. “Five fingers.”

“No! Wait!” He pulls himself up by his free hand, screaming and crying. Snot flies everywhere, but he splays his fingers.

“I’m going to be nice. I know you need your index and middle finger to grip weights, so I’m going to take your ring finger.”

“Oh, man. Oh, man oh man oh man—”

I drop the knife.

He pisses himself.

I let go. “You’ll want to call an ambulance before you bleed to death. Better explain it as a kitchen accident or I’ll come back for the rest. Got it?”

He drops to his knees, clutching his arm against his chest. I find his phone in the bedroom and put it on the floor next to him.

Outside, Brink stands on attention. “The screams woke the neighbors, sir.”

There’s light in all the neighboring windows on both sides of the road. Just as well. I’ll be interrogating every single person in this neighborhood.

I tell Brink of my intention and instruct him to start at the other end.

“Shall I wait to deal with the cops?” he asks.

I shake my head. “They won’t come.” Not in this neighborhood.

Lina

The curtains are closed, but enough light filters through the thin fabric for me to make out we’re in a cheap hotel room. Anne brings me a sandwich and a glass of milk, which she feeds me. When I’ve eaten, she nods at Zane.

“It’s time,” she says.

The bread gets stuck in my throat. Damian will never part with his mine. Everything that happened between us was because of that mine. I was a means to an end, not the end. My head still aches, and my muscles are stiff from sitting in one position all night. The bonds are tight. The chair is hard, reminding me of how sore my butt and tender my asshole are, but all of these discomforts are minor compared to the thudding of my heart as Zane presses the dial on his phone.

“If Damian agrees to your demands,” which I’m dead sure he won’t, “are you going to let me go or just kill me anyway?” If I had any money, I would’ve put it on the latter.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Anne says.

The alarm clock says it’s ten in the morning. By now, Damian would be at the office. He would’ve had breakfast, been to the gym, and showered. Maybe he looked for me, or had his men search the streets around the pharmacy where I dodged Brink.

The strain on Zane’s face is clear when he holds up a finger, indicating Damian is taking his call.

Zane’s voice sounds hollow and haunted. “Hallo, Dami.”

Whatever Zane tells himself, he cares about more than the money. He cares about Damian. How far will he let his greed drive him? Does he care enough to not go through with this? I hold my breath, but if I was hoping Zane would change his mind, it’s squashed at his next words.

“I presume you’re looking for Lina. If you want her back, you’ll follow our instructions. Check your inbox.”