You Are Mine To Desecrate

Chapter 11: My dark side

Alexander's POV

Bruno was already seated when I stepped in. I heard his screams of pain before I came in and now he was quiet but not for long.

I really f*****g enjoy hurting people, and tonight, I was really in the mood for more than that. I know how to wait for what I want most . But when I'm trying to get some real answers and the motherfucker is too busy trying to act tough and not give me the coherent response I needed. I get a little testy.

A single bulb swung above him, throwing the kind of shadows that made men think monsters were watching.

His head sagged forward,dark brown hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. His wrists were raw from chain ties.

I walked towards him in slow, leather soles tapping on the cracked concrete. I don't rush. I love the fear and fear did better when you let it simmer.

The dude lifted his head when I stopped in front of him. His lips were split, one eye swelling shut.

He spat blood onto the floor between us. "Come on, man. You think this scares me?"

I said nothing.

I crouched, resting my forearms on my knees so we were eye-level. His breath stank of copper and fear.

"There's been a rise in disappearances. Girls. Mostly young girls." I went straight to the point.

Bruno smirked trying to hide his fear but he was practically trembling. "You've got the wrong guy"

"But I haven't said anything. Have I?"

He kept silent.

I studied him the way I'd study a chessboard—every twitch, every beat of hesitation. The frustration from last night was still there, hot under my skin.

Ava.

I denied myself the hunger and it had nowhere to go. Until now.

"Bruno," I said softly. "Don't make this harder for me as well as for you. I could let Ian take you to the police. Or..." I picked up the blade from the table beside me, the steel reflecting the light from the bulb. "...I could take my time."

My dude still feigned that fearless appearance and tried not to flinch.

I laughed humorlessly. "This knife is about to go halfway across your ribs down to your stomach." I warn. "I promise I won't show you any mercy and gut out your organs while you f*****g breathe."

The fearless mask on the fucker's face fell. "f**k, man," he finally cries. "I really don't know what you are talking about. I've been in the warehouse and I'm just the f*****g janitor. I really don't know what they do to those girls they bring in and out. They don't let me in on what they do, please, man."

I laughed, standing straight. I wasn't looking at him, I turned just the knife to the right, the left and back to the right. "So you're useless is what you're saying," my eyes flared in anger as I inched the blade towards his ribs.

He squeezed his eyes shut as if he wasn't ready to watch himself being guttered. f*****g laughable.

"No, no, no," he pleads. "I think I know someone there. Yes, yes, I do."

"And don't give me that sob story that you are a janitor and s**t, because you and I know that you are one of the best ones. You've heard and seen, hell, you do sell these girls out and you know what I do to men who do stuff like that. What I do to men who think they are untouchable. Now I just need you to tell me who's pulling your strings."

He said nothing, still had that stubbornness in his eyes. The stubborn kind of silence that thought it could outlast me.

So I started small. A cut along the ribs, shallow enough to sting, deep enough to bleed. His hiss was immediate. Another slice, slower and deeper this time, across his thigh.

Minutes dragged. Every refusal earned him something worse.

Ian shifted near the wall. He hated nights like this and I felt he observed me quietly. Probably surprised at how ruthless I was tonight. But this was only the beginning. I had the urge to pour out all the frustration I felt from the night on this motherfucker. I really should've kissed her.

I picked up Bruno's index finger. He trembled and without any warning I sliced it off clean. I loved this knife, it was just as I wanted it. Sharp and lethal.

Bruno cried. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with blood. His light brown hair is now darker. "Oh, man. What the hell? My f*****g finger!!" He exclaimed in that pitched voice that irritated me.

I picked the next finger up and was ready to slice it off when he yelled.

"I—I will talk but first...."

I cut the finger off and let it topple down to the floor. He was terrorized and I was done being patient with him. "Less crying, more talking." I barked, picking up the third finger. His yells filled the entire room. I loved how he struggled to free himself from the chains. How he finally broke.

"H-his name is Marco. I think his one of the—"

"You think?" I brought the blade closer to his finger. His eyes became wide like saucers.

"No, no. He's one of the leaders who operate the whole thing. They send out men to kidnap the girls. He's the one who basically runs the whole stuff there . I promise that's all I know."

"Does Marco have a last name? " I snapped.

He sobs."No one knows, man. He just introduces himself as Marco to us."

"What does he look like? I snarled impatiently through gritted teeth.

He croaked, snot leaking down his broken lips. "Russian, full hair and he has a scar that cuts from his right eye down to his cheek and no beard. But I tell you, man, you can't miss the scar. His face is pretty f****d as hell."

I roll my eyes, stretching my body out. It's been a long f*****g day.

I wiped the blade on a rag before throwing it on top of the table.

"Now, was that so hard?" I ask casually, as if I haven't been torturing him for the past four hours or more.

He calmed down his breathing and looked at me with hope shimmering bright in those ugly gray eyes.

It was almost funny.

"I can go now, right? I've given you all the info you need. You—you will let me go?" He asked, staring up at me like a goddamn stray puppy.

"Of course " I smirked through the words. "If you manage to let yourself out of those chains. But I wouldn't let you walk."

He looks at me confused because he knows his heels are not severed. Well, not yet. I picked up a scarier looking blade off the table, the first limb came off clean.

A scream tore from his throat, bouncing off the steel walls. "No, man. That's messy. Please, dude."

The second limb came off but wasn't as clean as the first. This one was messier. By the third, his voice was gone, only wet gasps were left. When I was done, what remained of Bruno was slumped on the chair, his head hanging.

"Ian," I called, cleaning my bloodied hands with a clean towel before tossing it onto the table, "dispose of this properly."

Ian's voice was tight. "Y-yes, sir."

He'd seen me kill before. But never like this. Not with that precision or the cold satisfaction. Yet, I wasn't satisfied. Part of me still asked, "How would her mouth feel against mine? Would it feel as sumptuous as it felt before?