He doesn’t bother trying to convince me. He drops my wrist, plucks the knife from my hand and drags the tip on the floor until the eyeball pops off.
More gagging follows suit from the demons, while I watch him mechanically. No one touches my pretty knife.
No one.
He wipes the blood off on his black jeans and then hands it back to me.
My fingers slowly curl around the knife as I eye him, an odd look on my face. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be feeling right now.
He winks at me and then walks back over to Mark.
I take the opportunity to pick through the teeth. I smile triumphantly when I see black eroding this man’s teeth. The sign of decay.
“Mark, are you going to give me the information I need? I want to know where you do the rituals,” Zade demands, his voice devoid of emotion once more.
“Z, I swear, I don’t know anything!” Mark wails, vomit trailing from his thin lips.
Calmly, Zade picks up his hand, digs the tip of his own blade under his fingernail and pops it off with a quick flick of his wrist.
The man screams, his face turning an alarming shade of red and purple.
“Try again,” Zade says evenly. He positions the tip of the knife under another nail, readying for another lie.
“Z, I’m not lying to you!” Another nail, followed by more wails of agony. Once again, Zade positions the knife under the next nail. He slowly lifts the nail, giving the demon plenty of time to cut in.
He takes the bait.
“Okay, wait, wait!” Mark breathes heavily, as tears and snot track down his face. He’s sweating bullets, and the pain and fear has aged him considerably. He licks his lips nervously. “S-some of the kids we take, we take them to an underground club.”
My eyes widen, and without realizing it, I’ve dragged myself off of the dead man and wandered close to the pair. Zade shoots me a warning glare to stay back, but otherwise doesn’t mind my presence.
“Where is this place?” Zade asks.
“You can only access it through a private Gentlemen’s club—Savior’s. You need special access to even get in the club, let alone gain access to the…” he trails off, his face tightening as if he’s dreading his next words. He takes in a deep breath, and something like acceptance settles in his eyes. “To gain access to the dungeon.”
Dungeon? What the hell kind of demons are these people?
“Yeah? And what do you do in this dungeon?”
Clearly, Zade knows exactly what they do, but it seems like he wants verbal confirmation. Like he wants this man to admit to his sins. Makes his death a little more justifiable.
Mark doesn’t like that question. His eyes shift nervously and his mouth flops, but no sounds come out. With another flick of his wrist, Zade tears off another nail.
I smile, giddiness at this man’s suffering bubbling to the surface. It is so pleasing to see them cry and beg for their lives.
Pleas that will go as unanswered as their pleas to the fake gods they claim to worship.
“Fuck, Z! I-I just…” he trails over, as sweat profusely pours into his eyes. He blinks against the sting, more tears trailing down his ruddy cheeks. A sob breaks loose, and Zade positions his knife under the next nail.
“Wait! I said, wait, goddammit! We uh—we perform rituals on them.” He squeezes his eyes shut as soon as the admission leaves his chapped lips.
My mouth pops open as Zade growls out, “Why?”
Mark tightens his lips, a pained expression on his red face. “That’s how we’re sworn in to the secret society. We must perform a ritual and drink the blood of a virgin.”
A plethora of emotions filter through my bloodstream. Rage. So much fucking rage. Disgust, sadness, and even a stab of sharp pain
when I think about the pain those poor children are suffering through. All to join a fucking society?