EIGHTEEN
He was used to pain. He could handle pain. In many ways pain was pleasurable. And in this instance it was necessary. He tugged even harder but forced himself not to wince, despite the fierce sharp electric shock waves that shot up his arm. The flesh was scraping off now. Shredding like thin slices of uncooked beef.
He tugged again and this time, he could not suppress a cry and a curse. But as he cursed, he tugged even harder, the blood welling over the cold metal of the handcuff.
Now he was wracked with pain and wanted to curl up in a ball and sob. But he knew he couldn’t. He had gone this far. He had to go all the way. All the excruciating way. Before making another almighty effort, he gazed down at his damaged hand. It was almost down to the bone by the knuckles and the rest
