I wanted to dismantle the sentence, burn the vowels, tear apart the consonants. I never wanted to hear that jumble of words again in my life.
Keeping my head high, I didn’t look at him.
“You’d be best to answer me, Nila.” Daniel came closer, stopping in front of me. His voice hammered nails into my coffin.
I looked into his demonic eyes, nostrils flaring with anger. My hands opened and closed for a weapon. “No, I don’t know what that is and I don’t care. You’re like a bloody child looking for your parent’s approval.”
Bonnie chuckled. “Oh, tonight will teach that tongue of yours a lesson.”
“Take me back to my room. I’m done playing.”
Daniel laughed, catching my wrist and holding me steadfast. “Not so fast, Weaver.” Stroking my nipple through my white nightgown, he murmured, “Did you forget who called it quits the other night? You were tired. I could tell. The Scavenger’s Daughter would’ve driven you mad if I hadn’t stepped in.” He pinched me. “I was the one who unbuckled the iron and let you go.”
He’s right.
His concern for my wellbeing could’ve come across as kind and caring—if he hadn’t also been the one who’d swatted me with willow reed while I was bowed and imprisoned by the awful Scavenger’s Daughter.
He’d been tasked with teaching me manners after I’d refused to eat with them. He’d been told to make me bleed.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t.
He’d been happy just drawing my tears.
However, according to Cut, I was a spoil-sport.
The Daughter had been used to crush its victims. Bowing with my head on my knees, the iron bars had been excruciating, slowly tightening with a winch, folding me into fatal origami.
“What do you want from me? Appreciation? An award for mercy? What?”
Daniel narrowed his gaze, holding out the item. “What I want, Nila, is for you to play along.”
I snorted, unable to hide my disgust. “Play along while you torture me? Sure, why didn’t I think of that?” My eyes fell on the object. For once, I had no clue what it was. I didn’t recall seeing it in the torture book that V owned, and I couldn’t piece it together.
Bracing my spine, I said, “I told you. I have no idea what it is. Hurry up and get it out of my face.”
He ignored my command, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Good. Gives me the chance to teach you something for a change.”
You’ve taught me a lot, Buzzard.
How to hate.
How to crave death.
How to plot your demise.
Daniel laughed, stroking the roundish brass device with a corkscrew in the middle and petals lodged together with a small circular handle. It was pretty in an old-fashioned, barbaric way.
“This is a Pear of Anguish.” He shoved it beneath my nose. “Ever seen one before?”
“I just told you I didn’t know what it was.”
He beamed. “Allow me to show you how it works.” I recoiled as he held the pear and twisted the small lever at the bottom. Slowly the petals expanded outward, forming a morbid four-leaf flower. “This ingenious device has three uses.”
I swallowed hard as he kept spreading the petals.
“Use number one was for liars and instigators. The pear was forced into their throat and slowly opened until their jaw cracked.”
I shuddered.
“Use number two was for gay men or priests who broke their faith. It was shoved up their arse and cranked wide until their arsehole ripped.” He laughed, flaring out the pear to full expansion. “The third was for women. Adulterers and nuns who’d lied about being virgins for their God or faithful spouses. It was shoved up their twats, and only once they’d been stretched were they deemed repentant enough to deserve the Judas Cradle or Brazen Bull.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to imagine the rest of the torture devices. There was too much joy in creating so much pain. I couldn’t stomach it. I’d seen photos of the Brazen Bull—of stuffing a poor person inside a bronze statue and lighting a fire beneath. The victim roasted alive, while the smoke of their charred remains escaped through the nostrils of the bull.