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I walk towards him slowly, making a point of swinging both torture instruments in my hand, letting his imagination work overtime as I approach. “You…you d-don’t have to d-do this,” he stutters, struggling against the ties that are connecting him to the chair.

Luca would have made sure there’s no chance of him escaping, and even if he did, we’re in a locked room, in the middle of a large warehouse that’s full of my security staff, as this is where we train, and it’s in the middle of nowhere. His chances of escape are zero, but I don’t think he knows that yet.

“I don’t, but you leave me no choice since you’re not being honest,” I tell him, tutting at him like he’s a disappointing child.

I reach towards him with the knife, and as soon as the blade is close enough to make contact with his skin, instead of thrashing to get loose, he holds still, his eyes tracking my every movement. I use my blade to cut open his T-shirt, baring his pale, hairless chest to me.

“I’m telling the truth. You have to believe me,” Jesse yells.

“But I don’t believe you,” I tell him as I run my knife along the length of his chest, just pressing enough to leave a red mark along the skin, not enough to pierce it…not yet, anyway.

I may not have wanted this job at any point in my life, and I definitely resented it being forced on me, but now that I’m not numb with substances, I have to admit, there are parts I enjoy.

Whilst Marcus and Miles are the ones who prefer torture and theatrics, I’m more about just getting the job done, making surethe mistake isn’t repeated. If I have to send a message, I will, but it’s not normally something I enjoy.

Maybe my blue balls are sending me a little loopy, as I’m actually looking forward to making Jesse scream before he spills his guts to me…and they always confess in the end, so I don’t know why he’s prolonging it.

“Please don’t,” Jesse cries, tears streaming down his face as he sobs, mixing with blood and snot as they fall.

I ignore his cries, slicing a line over his right pec with the tip of my blade. It’s just deep enough to draw a trickle of blood. His cries get louder as I move to the opposite side, giving him a matching line.

His body trembles beneath my blade, but I ignore his pleas for help, dragging my knife down the length of his chest, from his sternum to just above his belly button.

Blood seeps out of the wounds, and I frown as I take a step back, annoyed that the fucker moved whilst I was carving him up, and now the line isn’t as straight as I would have liked. “You fucking moved, you dickhead. Now the line isn't straight.”

I’m aware how whiny I sound, but I take pride in my work.

Luca chuckles from over on the sofa, where he’s now eating a bag of cookies. I glare at him, but he just shakes his head. “And they say I’m the psycho,” he says with a laugh.

“Please, stop,” Jesse cries when I turn back to face him, my blood-stained knife in hand.

“Are you ready to tell the truth?” I ask, shaking my head when he pauses for just a little too long.

I bring the knife down to his thigh, cutting a deep line along the top, making sure to press down hard enough to slice through his jeans and his skin. When I see blood staining the denim, dripping down his leg onto the floor, I can’t help but smile. I may have gone a little deeper than intended… Nevermind.

I ignore Jesse’s cries as he begs me to stop, making sure to give him a matching wound along his opposite thigh. I watch as blood drips from both legs, pooling beneath him as he sobs loudly.

“Stop. I can’t… I can’t take any more.”

“So you’re willing to confess?”

He pauses again, as if he’s considering the answer, and I roll my eyes at his fucking stupidity. I see the relief on his face when I place the knife down on the side, thinking his punishment is over, but the worst is yet to come.

I drag my chair over again and sit down in front of him, only this time I’m closer to his right side. His wrists are tied to the arm of the chair, his fingers hanging off the edge. Because of where the arm of the chair ends, he’s able to wrap his fingers around it, but nothing more.

I reach out and take hold of his hand, gripping it tightly in mine as I press it against the chair. Jesse freezes, his loud sniffles and ragged breathing getting louder as he stares at me. His gaze flicks between my face and where I’m holding his hand against the chair, and it’s only after a couple of glances that he finally sees what’s in my other hand.

I move the small pair of pliers closer to his fingers, making it very fucking clear what I plan to do, and sure enough, panic sets in. Jesse starts to scream and shout, attempting to trash around despite being completely tied down. He tries to pull his hand from my grasp, but it’s a futile attempt.

His cries turn into him begging and pleading with me, but he’s not saying what I want to hear, so I ignore him. I secure the end of my pliers to the tip of his nail, and then I pull slowly but hard, dragging his nail away from his flesh.

To say Jesse turns frantic is a fucking understatement, as his loud screams begin to hurt my ears. I don’t stop until all of thenail on his pinky finger is removed, leaving raw red flesh in its place.

Just as I attach the plier to his ring finger, making sure it’s secure, I pause long enough to look up at Jesse. I’m disgusted by the amount of blood, tears, and snot that are coating his face.

“Are you ready to tell the truth?” I ask.

“You’ll kill me,” he cries, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from smiling.