But this evening, with Donovan, I’ve a few things I intend to get off my chest. I select a scalpel and hold it up to him in question. He only blinks at me.
“Ye’re right.” I turn back to the tools with a nod. “Too easy. I think you and I both know it wouldn’t do to let ye go easy.”
Outwardly, I’m calm. Always calm. There’s no need to put on a show. I will not allow him to see how deeply he has affected me. But tonight Donovan will feel the gravity of my long festered rage. Tonight, I will do what I’ve yearned to since I discovered this prick touched Sasha.
Blood drips from my palm, and I glance down to find the scalpel crushed in my fist. The dark crimson stokes the tempered fire inside of me. But I can’t allow it to take over. Because if it takes over, it will end too quickly.
And Donovan deserves no such kindness from me.
Rightly so, I’d have gutted him slowly and painfully simply for being a rapist pig. But that isn’t what motivates me to see his blood dripping onto the floor. It was who he touched. The one person he knew he couldn’t.
And she let him.
Closing my eyes to take a breath, I count the steps to the door out of habit. Repeating them backwards twice more, I am calm.
I pluck a pair of pliers from my tool case and a dental mouth gag from the drawer below. Since the room is small, built for function, the distance between the table and myself is only five steps. I count them twice as I lay out the necessary tools on the tray table and retrieve my rolling chair.
The table itself is adjustable, and I lower it to a more appropriate position before taking my seat. Donovan attempts to jerk away from me as I strap his head in place. They all do this, and I always find it irritating. They should know once they are strapped to my table there is no sense in fighting the inevitable. This is the difference between men like Donovan and men like me.
Where I would accept my fate and face it with dignity, he simply cannot. When I remove the cloth from between his teeth, a slurry of curse words flies from his mouth along with some spittle. It only makes it easier to slip the dental gag into position without a fight.
Once the task is complete I take a moment to sit back and admire my handiwork. Farrell taught me that I should always take pride in my work. I’m not often a proud man. I feel I do my job and I do it exceedingly well. But in this instance, I glimpse a small taste of the pride I was reared to believe I should feel.
“I usually do this bit after,” I explain to Donny as I retrieve the pliers from the tray beside me. “But I thought this might give us a few moments to chat. A warm up if you will.”
“Fuck you,” Donovan slurs around the metal.
I extend the pliers into his mouth and grip hold of a front tooth first. “This may hurt a wee bit.”
The tooth comes out with some wiggling and a fair amount of squealing on Donovan’s part.
“For a lad who likes to hurt women, ye sure do scream a bit,” I note.
His reply is muffled by the swelling and blood pooling in his mouth. My work continues without a pause, the tension leaving my body when his screams finally die down. That’s the adrenaline kicking in. But it won’t do him a fat lot of good for what I have in store.
The room is quiet save for the moaning of the pliers as I work, and I’ve had some time to piece my thoughts together.
“Does it interest ye to know, Donny, that before you or Blaine ever laid a hand on her, she was mine?”
He meets my gaze, and there’s humor behind his. He’s mocking me with his eyes. In all the time I’ve known the lad, I’ve only ever received mocking glances from him. It’s of little consequence to me. He won’t be laughing when I’m through with him.
“I saw her first that night,” I confess. “Before anybody else.”
He mumbles something indecipherable again, and I shake my head to silence him.
“A mouse in a field full of vultures.”
I wasn’t one of them. My lack of social skills and my position within the organization wouldn’t allow me such a conquest back then. Things are different now.
Only I’m not.
When all of Donny’s teeth have been collected, I stuff the cloth back into his mouth to soak up the blood. I clean up my own hands and set the dirty tools aside while I seek out my next one. I pause over the scalpel again, my usual companion. There’s something soothing and beautiful about a cleanly cut line. Donovan won’t be getting any such mercy from me.