Rage circled the chair, assessing the male strapped to it.
Once. Twice. He stopped behind the chair, looked over the males’ head to Wrath and Ethan.
“What tools are in here?” the other males glanced around them, there wasn’t much in the small space beneath the shed. Three cells lined up with a small hall running parallel.
He waited as they moved about the space, searching for any tools, only to return with silent head shaking. He sighed, unsheathing the serrated knife in his boot. It was not ideal for the task, he much preferred to use it for killing, the grooves near the hilt perfect for the secondary slicing when removed. But it would have to do, his kit was in his tent and he didn’t feel like wasting time retrieving it.
“Here is what’s going to happen,” Rage rounded the chair, staring down at the male, his gray eyes holding nothing but hate, “I will ask you a question and you will answer. If you don’t, if you lie or I don’t like the answer, you will feel pain like you have never felt before...”
“I’m not telling you anything, you’re going to kill me anyways,” the male snarled, Rage growled deep, annoyed already with this pup.
“The matter isn’t IF or WHEN, pup, it is a matter of HOW, as in HOW much it will hurt,” that’s when the shaking started, the fear once more filling the male and leaking into the air. Rage’s wicked smile grew.
“So, tell me,” he passed around the chair, tapping the blade rhythmically on his thigh, “Who leads this rag-tag gang of mutts?” he stopped before the chair, the blade still tapping against his jeans.
“I don’t know,” Wrong answer... the knife was buried in the other males’ thigh before he could take a breath. The scream shook through the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Leaving the blade, Rage stood, glaring downward, face twisted.
“It is hard to believe you joined the so- called “pack” without knowing the leader, the “Alpha” per say,”
“I don’t know...” the blade snagged on the puckered skin, ripping the smooth slice made on entry. The scream was deeper but just as loud as the first. The males mouth gaped like a fish as he tried to speak though the pain. Rage waited, “I-I s-swear only...k-know who leads... the camp, Jackson”
Rage nodded, letting him catch his breath, he was taking in long gulps past the pain. He believed him, it was very likely that this pup was only told so much, only knew so much.
“How many camps are there?” he asked as he moved to stand behind the chair again.
“I don’t know...” he screamed as the knife pieced the tender skin between his neck and shoulder, slowly slicing downward, cutting both skin and cloth until it reached the shoulder blade. Blood gushed down his back, absorbed by the dark cotton shirt.
“Would you like to try that again?” Rage said directly into the mutts’ ear.
“Three...” the mutt gasped, releasing a sob. Rage tisked, shaking his head, this pup wasn’t going to last long.
“Good,” he stared at the back of the brown head of hair, not glancing at the two men in the hall watching, white faced at the two cuts he had done. Maybe it wasn’t the cut, maybe it was Rage that made all of the blood drain from their faces.
“Where does the leader stay?” he faced the tear-stained face.
“I don’t...” the knife found home in the pups’ other leg.
“Haven’t you learned that that is not a good answer?” Rage growled, the sound causing the mutt to shake more. Eyes now trained on the knife, buried in his flesh, he knew it would hurt more coming out than going in.
“THE CITY!” the hand paused while reaching for the handle. Gold eyes assessed the male before pulling away.
“I...” Rage snarled, snatching the blade from its flesh sheath.
“A BIG CITY!” the voice now rasped, three screams and his voice was dying already, “New York, Chicago... I can’t remember,”
Rage swiftly stalked behind him, letting the bloody blade press against the unmarred flesh between neck and shoulder.
“Will this help you remember?” he didn’t wait for an answer as the pulled the blade down the skin, curved as the mutt tried to lean away. The slice didn’t stop until it mirrored the one parallel to it.
“I overheard it,” the words were almost a whisper, “No one told me, I only heard the information in passing one night, I don’t really remember, it was months ago,”
Rage was still, quiet, taking in the outdated information. It wasn’t impossible for the leader to be in a big city, but if he was recruiting it wasn’t the best place. Wolves tended to stay away from big cities, too much noise, too many people.
“Alright, now tell me, how big is your camp?” the pup gulped in a sob, his teary eyes looking up at Rage.
“A thousand eight hundred and sixty-three,” Rage nodded, ignoring the rustling noise that came from outside the cell.
“And how many are fighters?” When the male shook his head, Rage placed the blade between his shoulder blades, slowly slicing horizontally, nicking bone as he sliced over the thin layer over the spine, carefully directing the cut between vertebra.
The male convulsed, his scream caught on a sob as the smell urine filled the air. Pausing, Rage looked at the slice, wondering of he went to deep and severed the spine. He could not see through the blood. Not that it mattered.
“How many children?” Rage tried this time, maybe deduction was how he would get his answer.
“Thirty-seven...” the rasped answer came between gasps, “eight are under three and there are five babies,” Rage frowned at the answer, that was a surprising number of children for a group of rogues.
“Women?” when the mutt started to say that he didn’t know, the knife made contact with the skin at the base of his neck, cutting horizontally between the vertical slices.
“I ...” Rage slipped the knife in the lower left corner of the square he made on the males back, slowly, very slowly pealing the skin back. Blood gushed as the layers came off smoothly.
Above the muted scream, a gagging noise came from outside of the cell. Followed by quick feet and the sound of vomiting. Rage pushed the wondering thought of who it was as he pulled the last bit off of the males back, the bloody muscle and bone beneath. The wet slap sounded as the flesh dropped to the floor.
The male was gasping now, no doubt black spots were dancing before him.
“Have you ever met the leader?” the moan and jolted shake of the head was the only answer, no. “How often does your leader leave to meet with him?” he needed to ask these last questions before the pup passed out. He wasn’t going to least the night, he would prefer to just end it here and now, anyway.
“Two What?” slowly Rage brushed his finger over the exposed meat, the male cried out as a sting followed the movement. The male only groaned in pain.
“Two days?” he questioned, lifting his finger only to place it in a different spot, caressing with his finger, “Two weeks?” he lifted his finger as the mutt shook his head, “two months?”
A shiver wracked his body before he slowly nodded his head. His body slumped forward, head hanging low.
“Every two months they meet?” he nodded again, jerking his head up, chin slamming into his chest. He nodded, though the male couldn’t see him. He leaned forward gripping the male by his hair, leaning his head back against him. He lifted the knife, planning to slice through his neck as swiftly as he could, glancing the serrated knife in his hand. It was not meant to be used to slit throats.
Flipping the blade in his hand, he slammed blade into the soft spot of his temple, the side of his fist making contact as it acted as a hilt. With a swift tug he pulled the blade out, ignoring the fluid that was released.
His eyes rose to the entrance to the cell, across from him.
Wrath stood, with his mouth agape, frozen in shock, eyes wide as saucers. There was a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, both unused as his arms hung limply at his sides. His eyes didn’t move from the body as Rage moved around him, leaving the cell. He stopped only to pull his jacket from his petrified brother’s shoulders.
Though his brother had a very tough shell, he was surprised that he had stayed, though that was not nearly as long or as horrifying as the other. Though the shock may have had him frozen there unable to leave, Fury was truly the only one to handle what he was capable of.