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My body shakes, but I maintain my glare at him because even under pressure, I am always going to be a little shit.

Dante would be proud of me. If he ever knows.

God, I hope he’s keeping Mason safe. Sourness rises up in my throat at the thought of Mason, the thought of leaving him with absolutely no one in this world.

I’m going to kill myself through the power of my mind alone.

“No puking,” Claude says firmly, like he’s ordering my body to listen. “It grosses me out.”

“But blood is okay?” I ask weakly.

“Blood is normal human function. Puking is unpredictable with lots of chunks sometimes since they gave you food. Do not do it. Be good boy and hold it in. This will be quick if you just tell me what I need to know.” Claude points at the ground, making his tight long-sleeve shirt ride up to reveal an intricate-looking tattoo. “Lie down.”

I lower myself to the ground with shaky legs.

He carefully arranges my limbs so that I resemble a starfish, head tilting this way and that until he’s got me exactly how he wants me.

Claude spends a few moments snapping on latex gloves, then carefully slides my shirt up my abdomen.

He takes a few moments to stare at the ladder of scars on my stomach, then at the carefully placed lines on my thighs.

He hums, then lifts the scalpel. “This will not feel good because you are not controlling it. My apologies.” He chuckles, ruefully shaking his head at his own joke.

God. What a weirdo. “Such a weird saying. I am not really sorry, but it felt nice to say. Do you know who Dante and the others work for?”

“No,” I say softly, voice trembling. My stomach quivers as he lowers the scalpel to press against my skin. “No, I really don’t. I swear. I don’t know anything. I just know… I just know that someone sends them tasks to do.”

Claude pauses with the scalpel against my skin.

His thumb presses down on my stomach, while his index finger presses down on the scalpel.

When I breathe in, the scalpel barely slices my skin, but he doesn’t use pressure to push down.

I watch distantly as small dots of blood pool on my abdomen. Oh. He’s right.

“I really don’t know,” I say with a tremble in my voice. I’m so scared, not in the way that’s safe with Dante. But in the sort of way where death feels really imminent and I don’t know what to do. “I don’t know.”

“You are fucking the one killer boy and do not know anything?” Claude snorts in disbelief.

“You Americans always think I am a fool. You cannot be entwined with someone and not know the dealings that they are doing. Not when the man looks at you the way he does, not when he has had his brothers protecting you so that we cannot get you.” He lifts the scalpel and waves it around in the air, my blood tingeing the blade.

“It does not matter. I will get information another way.”

And then he brings the scalpel back down to cut across my stomach. The scream that shatters out of me vibrates my bones, and Claude’s smile is the cruelest I’ve ever seen. I close my eyes to try and will the pain away, but Claude reaches up to smack my cheek, bringing me back to reality.

The pain of the cut hurts in a different way than I’ve ever experienced.

This is real pain, the kind that awakens all those primordial feelings inside me to flee, to protect myself, to do anything to stay alive.

I tilt my head a little to look at the smashed phone on the ground beside me.

Maybe Dante had a brief moment to look at his phone, found the app, and tracked me before it was crushed.

Everything I’ve been doing for the past few years seems so stupid in the grand scheme of everything.

All the pain I’ve caused Mason when we’ve been through enough pain .

Claude slashes across my stomach again, this time leaning down to hover in my face so I can’t disassociate from the moment.

“You know, you did some very bad things with some very bad men before entangling yourself with these stupid little boys,” Claude says carefully, eyes shrewd and angry. “Did you know you were fucking the biggest drug kingpin in Eastport?”

“I never do repeats,” I say through clenched teeth.

Claude tilts his head while slashing the knife across my stomach again. “Even when you took the drugs you bought from them?”

Oh, I don’t want to think about that. All the stupid shit I’ve done. The mistakes I’ve made.

“I was brought here to punish you for those boys killing the king, but I am here for my own ends. Yes, they pay me a lot, but I am here for my own purpose. It is more interesting to me what they do than the fact you like to let any person with a dick come inside you.”

My nostrils flare as I stare up at him. “I liked you a little, until you got mean.”

“You thought a man nicknamed The Carver would be nice? Simpleton.”

“Less talking, more cutting,” I spit at him.

Claude grins. “Okay. What is the name of their leader?”

I stare up at him, all vitriol and fury.

Nothing he does will get a word out of me.

He’ll kill me anyway. What’s the point? Claude stands, visibly frustrated with my lack of snitching, and pulls a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of his pants pocket.

I watch detachedly as he twists the cap, then slowly tips it over with a grin.

Pain explodes through me and I scream again as my wounds sizzle and burn.

At least they’re clean now. Maybe I won’t get tetanus and die, if I can live through this.

Claude grins wickedly, pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, and disappears toward the back of the room while speaking quick Russian.

Shivers of pain and adrenaline rack through me.

Tilting my head back, I take slow even breaths so that the wounds on my stomach can’t be stretched.

Birds fly overhead, calling out as they drift higher toward the fractured blue sky.

I wonder if Dante has figured anything out yet.

Will they come for me? Will I smell him one more time?

I float in and out of awareness as the pain reaches a crescendo.

Claude reappears with a smile, scalpel dangling from his fingers, and I scream again solely out of fear. His smile grows at the sound.