Tyson groaned at the relentless stabbing pain that pierced through his cranium. His chin rested on his chest, the pain in his head proved to be too great to lift. However, his discomfort instantly became a distant memory at the sight of his bound wrists and ankles. He struggled against the ash brown rope, the thickness of the material prevented him from breaking free of the restraints.

His gaze languidly traveled from his reddened wrists to the eyes that rested on him in the dark room. The moonlight that poured into the kitchen through the window, illuminated the figure before him and in a matter of seconds, as if out of nowhere, he could suddenly make out Michelle's form.

She casually rested against the kitchen island bar, a lighthearted disposition was about her. She grinned and allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips as she twirled the ice pick that Tyson once held.

"I wonder," she began, "what were you planning to do with this? You know, just for the sake of knowledge. What did you have in mind?"

Tyson shook his head and smiled, "Well, that was depending on what your next move was gonna be. Let me ask you, Michelle, what is your next move? Because I think that you need to think long and hard about what it is you're doing, about what it is that you're gonna do."

"I could use this to cut pieces off of you, then mail those pieces to your mother," Michelle surmised. "But, then again, ice picks aren't very good for that kind of thing."

"...No, they're not. They're good for killing cunts that tie me up," Tyson snarled, his scrutinizing eyes boring into Michelle's.

"You should know, pretty soon, you're gonna be begging me for mercy," she promised, her thumbed grazed over the sharp tip of the tool as she did so.

The man simply snickered to himself softly, "And you should know, I'm gonna get out of this. I'm gonna drag your ass to Mr. Everette, then he's gonna let me kill you in front of everyone. And finally, when you're good and dead...we're gonna hunt your husband down like a dog and kill him too. I just wanted to let you know because even though you'll be dead, you need to be aware that your husband won't be safe, he isn't safe. You're gonna be the one begging for mercy...even in death."

"No, actually...I have something else in mind," she tightly gripped the handle of the ice pick and slowly approached Tyson. Her lighthearted expression had completely diminished and she allowed her hardened glare to meet his.

Michelle plunged the sharp tool into Tyson's right eye from an angle, stabbing directly into his eyeball, but not too deep, she didn't want to kill him just yet.

"Ahhhhhh!" Tyson's shriek was completely animalistic, he bucked wildly in his seat, the legs of the chair roughly scraped against the white tile. He tightly balled his hands into a fist and yanked against the restraints with all his might. He felt the rope boring into his wrists, his skin turning a dark shade of red. "Ahhhh!"

She pulled the ice pick downwards in a torturously slow manner, she watched the blood burst from his eyeball. His optic nerve popped out of his skull and held on by a mere thread, still linking his eye, that was now kissing his cheek, to his brain. Crimson blood leaked down his face and dripped down towards his cracked lips before finally slithering into the spaces between his teeth.

"Uggghhh!" he continued to buck roughly, but Michelle's tight knots proved to be too strong. "You bitch! I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna fucking end you!" Blood filled saliva spurted from his mouth while he yelled, his one good eye screamed ferocity as it remained fixed on Michelle. His iris no longer had a nonchalant way about it, it was inhumane, demonic, purely ungodly.

"How does it feel?" Michelle growled. While Tyson's glare was demonic, her's was solely satanic. "How does it feel to be restrained, not able to move, not able to do a damn thing while someone takes something of yours, something so precious that no matter what you do, it's never coming back and it can never be fixed?" She pulled a pair of kitchen shears from her holster and rapidly cut the flimsy optic nerve in half, releasing the eyeball from his flesh. "How does it feel, huh?"

Tyson gritted his teeth, but despite his attempts to hold back the shriek that begged to be released, he failed. A grisly roar escaped from the depths of his throat, the thunderous shriek rocked the entire house to its core.

Michelle gripped his jaw in her hand, forcing his face merely inches from hers. "Just say the word and I'll stop. Say it...beg me for mercy."

Eventually, Tyson ceased his ferocious cries and instead began to chuckle. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as a throaty laugh erupted from within him. Michelle squinted her eyes in suspicion at the man's amused demeanor. He leaned forward and lunged a wad of spit towards Michelle, the saliva landed on the brunette's face and rolled down her cheek. Tyson laughed once more and spoke, "Keep it comin'."

The woman used the sleeve of her clothing to quickly wipe the spit from her cheek. A chill traveled down her spine in disgust. She released a chuckle of her own as she pulled up a stool and planted herself in it right in front of Tyson.

For a moment, they both sat in the dark, neither uttering a word. The soft tick of the kitchen clock, low music emitted from the radio, and Tyson's heavy breathing filled the tense air. Michelle studied his angered face, his missing eye, and bloodied mouth. She smirked at the sight.

"Do you know one thing that really distinguishes humans from animals?" she listened to Tyson's silence before continuing, "We have these," she held up her gloved hands and made her thumbs dance. "They seem meaningless,  but in reality, they're really important and everyday they prove to us that we're not animals. But, not you, right? After what you've done to innocent people, killing those kids...killing my kid...no. You're not even human anymore, I don't think you've ever been human." She pulled a tool from her holster and held it tightly in her hand before leaning close to Tyson's ear and whispering, "You're an animal and as an animal, you don't need those thumbs...now do you?"

Michelle wrapped her fingers around the man's left thumb and speedily forced it all the way back. A loud crack proceeded her action and Tyson breathed heavily as he gritted his teeth, he refused to give her the satisfaction of hearing any more of his screams. However, once the woman attached a rusty hand pruner to the base of his thumb, yanked his shortest digit from his hand and flung it across the room, his incessant bellowing picked up yet again.

"Shit!" Tyson's erratic breathing picked up at the sight of the gushing stub that sat where his thumb once rested.

The brunette crouched down in front of him to meet his gaze. "Beg me," she commanded.

Her former colleague simply scoffed and bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. For a mere second, the pain in his lip made him forget the excruciating torment that he was enduring from his eye and hand.

Michelle smiled condescendingly as the man's hand spewed bright blood like jelly from a raspberry filled donut. "One down," she raised her voice over his shouting, "one to go!"

Michelle used her alcohol drenched cloth to wipe Tyson's blood from her pistol, hand pruner, kitchen shears, ice pick, and stool just to be safe. She knew that her mission was coming to an end and while it was her plan to send a message to the agency, just as they had done to her, she still wanted to refrain from being caught by the police.

Her eyes darted from her tools to Tyson's wounded body once she heard the man produce a small grunt. Although she had removed his right eye, took both of his thumbs, and soon after dripped hydrochloric acid onto his scalp, the man was still holding on, by a mere thread, but holding on nonetheless.

His skull peaked through his corroded skin, the burns on the top of his head remained prevalent. "You know, I have to give you props, you're a hell of a fighter," Michelle admitted. She placed her weapons back into her holster and traded them out for short, clear, squeezable bottle. 

She released the bottle's contents onto Tyson, covering every inch of his body. "I'm sure you can tell from the smell what this is. But, if your senses are shot, I'll understand given your current situation. So, I'll be kind enough to tell you...it's gasoline."

Tyson fought through the pain and slowly lifted his head. He allowed his eyes to meet the inflamed match that sparked alive between Michelle's thumb and pointer finger.

"No," he choked on the sob that sat in his throat. "No more."

Michelle's brow cocked at the sound of Tyson's words. "What? I didn't quite catch that. Did you just say...no?"

Tyson shook his head, "Don't. Please."

"Please...what?" she tested.

He clenched his teeth and forced his eye to meet Michelle's, "Have mercy." His words came out like a wisp. It was quiet, light, airy, but desperate.

Michelle breathed softly through her nose, after many years of working alongside Tyson, if she she knew one thing about him it was that he was a proud man. Possibly the proudest man she'd ever met, she never thought that he'd actually say it. His words were like music to her ears, a tune that passed softly through her cochleas and produced a modest smile that languidly formed on her lips.

She twisted the wooden match between her thumb and pointer finger and watched as the flame slowly dwindled down, it was rapidly approaching her skin.

She furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head "...No."

Tyson's left eye widened as Michelle flicked the small flame onto him, the fire instantly licked his skin roughly, setting every crevice of his body ablaze. The shrieks poured out of him like rain from the sky during a violent storm. He could feel the thick rope that bound him to his chair melt into his skin. The fire traveled upwards towards his throat and scorched his flesh and vocal chords. A quiet stillness returned to the home once Tyson fell silent, death consumed him as the fire engulfed his corpse completely.

The thick smell of burning flesh kissed Michelle's nose gingerly while she looked on. She finally tore her eyes away from the mesmerizing flame and gathered her things. She lifted the back window and crawled out of the warmth of the home and into the cool of the night, leaving behind nothing more than the silence of a burning bastard and the low sounds of a crackling fire.

Author's note:

So, Tyson's finally dead, are y'all gonna miss him?

And, as you may have noticed, this chapter was particularly gruesome. I tried to get creative. Haha. Anyway, if you like these kinds of chapters, feel free to let me know by commenting or simply hitting that vote button.

Also, this book has reached 1k reads! Thanks for all of your support and as always, thanks for reading! 🤗