Page 23 of Love Her Ruin
The big toe is next. The hallux, the one that bears the most weight. I grip it at the base, and I pull.
The joint separates with a deepthunk. He howls, back arching. I hold the toe, now loose in its socket, and I twist.
The bone actually spirals, which makes me laugh.
"That’s five." I move to the arch.
This is the good part, the intricate part. I place the heel of my palm against the soft underside, where the skin is pale and vulnerable, and I press.
The bones give in sequence. A cascade of pops and crunches, like a string of firecrackers going off under his skin. The arch collapses, flattens, the foot becoming a shapeless bag of bone chips and torn ligaments. His screams climb the walls, bounce off the ceiling, and come back to us redoubled.
I hold his foot up for Sera to see. It’s a ruin, a thing that will never hold weight again.
I drop the foot, and it hits the floor like a dead fish.
Then I do the same to his other foot.
"These are the feet that followed her," I say once he’s finished his agonized hymn. "The feet that kicked her down. The foot that walked away while she bled."
Sera's eyes are dark pools, but there's a light in them. A cold, satisfied gleam.
"Now," I say, standing, brushing off my hands. "Let's talk about the knees."
Chapter 12
Eddie
AfterJames’sturnwithVincent, we break and then reconvene the next evening. Sera gives him stale bread, covered in James’s cum, and water, and it’s certainly not out of the goodness of her heart.
This is about torture, about Vincent’s final deconstruction, about catharsis, about healing Sera the only way she knows how.
Vincent is on the floor, curled around his ruined feet and knees, his breath coming in wet, hitching gasps. He's crying. Again. Tears mean the walls are coming down, which is fine since it’s my turn with him.
I crouch beside him, close enough that he can see my face, the calm in it, the patience. I've waited for this, not just the moment, but the position of power over my former boss and the man who tried to kill me twice.
"You didn’t do a very good job at killing me," I say, my voice level. "Just like you didn’t do a good job of being a man."
He looks up. His eyes are wild, darting, searching for an exit that doesn't exist. They land on my chest and shoulder, where the bullets hit.
He whimpers, a small, animal sound.
"I came back for this," I continue, glancing at Sera behind me on her throne. "In part, anyway. That's the thing about trying to kill a man who's in love with a woman who made a deal with the devil. You have to be sure he’s really dead."
I reach into my pocket and pull out a pair of gloves I use at crime scenes. I put them on slowly, deliberately, letting the latex snap against my wrists. The sound makes him flinch.
It’s not that I don’t want to touch him, but…
Fine, it’s because I don’t actually want to touch him. He reeks of piss and shit, and I don’t want his particular rot to taint me.
"Now," I say, "we're going to have a conversation. You're going to tell me everything. Every woman you raped. Every crime you’ve committed. Every lie you told to cover your tracks. And if you don't…" I gesture at his body. "Well, we’re just getting warmed up."
He shakes his head, a frantic, jerking motion. "I don't— I can't—"
"You can." I lean closer. "You will. I'm not asking, Vincent. I'm telling. You tried to kill me. You raped the woman I love. You think a few broken bones are going to make me stop?"
I let the silence stretch, let him feel the weight of it.
"Let's start with Evelyn," I say. "Tell me how you killed your wife. Be specific."
