Avery opened his mouth to protest, but the one called Ice shoved the terrible thick string of beads halfway down his throat so that he was gagging and choking.
“That’s right, you want it nice and wet,” Savage said. “Look at that picture you have right in front of you. We’re going out of our way to re-create it for you. In the meantime, you be thinking about names. Russian names. And addresses. Think about them as well. And don’t forget the collector. He’s very, very important to us. That would be a very good name for you to remember. That, and Terrance Marshal’s latest address.”
Avery tried to shake his head, but Savage pulled the beads from his mouth, and he coughed and spit to try to clear his injured throat. Savage caught him in a powerful grip and thrust his head toward the bed. It jerked his arms horribly.
“Allow me, Ice. You know I don’t give a fuck, don’t feel a thing when they scream or bleed. Well, that’s not true.” Without preamble he slammed the rubberized point deep and kept pushing, uncaring that he was tearing through the man’s insides. “I’ve got this right, don’t I, Avery? I’m following the series of pictures you took and put on your wall to enjoy. This is the kind of shit you like, right?”
Avery’s voice gave out after the steady scream, and he could only put his forehead on the headboard and pant. He was already dripping in sweat and then he heard the whistle of the whip before it cut into him. Savage hadn’t been lying when he said he knew how to wield a whip, and he did so, going for maximum pain. He was a very strong man and clearly an expert with the tool. Every time Avery thought he might black out, Savage stopped to give him a rest and then would start again.
“You might want to come up with a name or two, Avery,” Ice said, all friendly like. He perched on the edge of the bed. “He can keep this up all night. The thing is, the skin on your back, butt and thighs is pretty much gone. He’s going to want to turn you over soon. I’m thinking that thing in your ass is going to hurt like hell when you grind it against the mattress, and that whip on your dick is going to send you someplace you don’t want to go.”
Savage stopped swinging the whip and moved to stand in front of Avery so he could lift his gaze and look at him. Savage hadn’t so much as broken a sweat.
“Yeah, I think you need to turn over, Avery.”
Avery shuddered with pain and fear. All he could do was whimper and shake his head.
Ice nudged him. “Don’t piss him off. Seriously, it’s never a good thing to get him angry. Just do what he says. Turn the fuck over and start talking.”
Avery tried to comply, too scared to do anything but obey, but his arms were not cooperating. There was terror in his eyes. They could stay there for weeks and no one would come. What about Harold? Where was he? But he’d already been waiting at the mansion. That meant he was dead as well and there was no one. He’d created this space for himself so he could be alone with his young victims when he chose.
Savage unlocked the cuffs from the headboard and Avery forced his painful body to turn. Savage gripped one ankle and yanked him down, stretching him across the bed. It hurt beyond comprehension. Savage never changed expression. He simply secured him back to the bed, his legs spread wide.
“You got the name of the collector for us?”
“I don’t know him. I don’t know him. I swear I don’t.” Avery’s head tossed side to side. “Only Terrance knows. Terrance Marshal. He got his brother Richie a job with us. And the Russian. The Russian knows.” He gave the information eagerly.
“Where’s Terrance now?” Ice asked.
“He’s in the wind. He does that the moment something goes wrong. His brother was killed. He took that as a warning, and he disappeared.”
He’s telling the truth, Absinthe said. His voice was abnormally distant. They’d tried to protect him by using a pulse monitor Mechanic had created for them.
“You tell everyone you know the collector,” Savage said.
“I lied! I lied so they’d respect me more!” Avery screamed, his face so red and puffy his eyes bulged out. He couldn’t take his gaze off the whip in Savage’s hands.
“How would I know if you’re telling the truth, Avery?” Savage asked. “You’re an admitted liar.” He swung the whip with expert precision and again, using maximum strength.
Avery screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore, until he was choking and gasping for breath. Savage stopped. “Again, Avery, who is the collector?”