Between friendship and duty. (Part 3)
Warning: This part of the story contains the torture and humiliation of DC Kent
As Kent had predicted it had been a sleepless night. He was full of guilt and after three hours of turning and tossing in bed, he’d decided to do some work, so he would meet up prepared for work. He’d opted for coffee instead of tea in the morning and had left the apartment before Mark got up.
He’d on purpose decided to show up a bit later than usual this day. Normally he would meet as the second person with only Chandler coming in before him. He usually announced his arrival with a cheery hi, which was either answered by a lovely and polite wish of a good morning or a vague hello depending on the stress levels of the station at the time. Then he’d sit down on his desk, getting to work straight away, while enjoying the silence of the station when it was just him and Chandler.
Riley was there as well when he arrived which made him cheer on the inside. This meant he didn’t have to be alone with Chandler; something he was sure he couldn’t handle. He quietly greeted Riley, and found his place at the desk, starting out with paper work as long as they didn’t have any big case to work on.
Miles was in a bad mood and only acknowledged the rest of the room with a gruffy hello, when he arrived, which suited Kent great. The less people he had to be chitty-chatty with throughout the day the better. But of course he couldn’t ignore the proud and suggesting look he was sent by Mansell when he arrived at work. He just looked straight ahead, hoping that Mansell’s crazy ideas would stay between the two of them, so he didn’t have to come up with excuses. His mind was still racing with guilt, and if any of them were to be a little suspicious of anything at all, he felt he might spill the truth right away.
So he stayed silent and out of the way throughout the day, only contacting Miles about the work that had to be done, politely thanking Riley for her comments on the niceness of his quick recovery, and giving slight nods to his superior whenever they got eye contact.
One time Chandler came over to him, asking for him to research some names, and Kent deliberately avoided looking into his eyes, while only allowing himself to answer yes or no, but still obeying the order. He did notice the look of wonder on Chandler’s face when he walked away, but, luckily for Kent, this was the longest encounter they had all day.
In the break he opted for getting the entire team coffee, effectively avoiding the team at their chattiest moments. And then he put himself 100% into the work in front of him, so he, with a clean conscience, could leave earlier than usual.
He still felt guilty over what he’d done, and wanted to spent as little time with his work mates and in that environment as possible. But despite the fact that he was constantly battling his guilt, at the end of the day he felt like he might actually get through this. Nothing had turned up on their desks that even resembled the murder. When he arrived home he felt confident that he would actually get some sleep that night. Despite the gruesome thing he had been part of, he would eventually be able to forget it and put this whole event in the past.
When he entered the hallway, the smell of Chinese takeaway found his nostrils. They really did need go to the convenience store. He closed the door behind him, and was just about to turn around and yell this at his roommate, when he found himself surrounded by four men. He didn’t even have time to react before he was seized by two of them and forced into the living room, where they bound his hands and pushed him up against the back of the sofa.
One of the men, casually holding a gun, scrutinized him and huffed.
“It’s the flatmate,” he said briefly to the others.
“Wasn’t he the cop?” another man asked leaning closely into Kent’s face. Kent tried steadying his breath, and resisting the urge to spit the man in the face.
“That scrawny pup?” a big guy, one of the men who had grabbed him, said with a laugh, as he kicked his shoulder, so he fell down and had to struggle to get into an upright position again, much to the amusement of the others.
“DC Emerson Kent,” the fourth man announced from the desk Kent had worked on the day before. Some of his papers were still lying around.
“Emerson, eh? Any idea where that mate of yours is?” the man holding a gun said. He seemed like the one in charge.
Kent swallowed, trying to even out his breathing. He had to remain calm. These must be the friends of the victim that he himself had gotten rid of. They would know that the last thing their mate did was go to his dealer - Mark.
“No - I’m afraid not,” Kent said in the calmest voice he could muster, which earned him another kick to the shoulder. This time the man who’d kicked him was the only one laughing. The others were wearing stone hard faces.
“Look ‘ere pup! You call up that friend of yours and have him come over here or else!”
Kent battled himself into an upright position, and was about to comment on his lack of ability to phone his friend while his hands were bound behind his back, when the man kicking him held out a phone to his ear.
“Just say his number, and we’ll make sure you have the right man. You don’t want to know what happens if it isn’t him!” the leader informed him.
Kent didn’t want to take any chances. The only one who wasn’t home from the station yet would be Chandler, and he wouldn’t be able to show up in time, he would be in danger, and his friend would feel like Kent had betrayed him. He told them the number, and the man beside him held the phone to his ear. It took a while, and Kent watched the man’s expression turn grim.
“There’s nobody bloody answering the phone!” he barked.
The man who’d found his name in the papers on the desk strode towards Kent.
“Are you playing games with us, kid?”
He came dangerously close to Kent pushing him down so he lay on the floor, and shoved his hands down one of his trouser pockets. Kent tried fighting him off, but the man just held him down with the length of his underarm pressed against his chest and withdrew Kent’s own phone from his pockets.
He then stood up, grinning down at Kent who lay still for a while trying not to panic.
“The code?” he said briefly looking down at the phone. Kent told him, and he noticed a brief expression of satisfaction on the man’s face, at the fact that he’d given him the correct information.
“Hmph, it was the right number he gave us, alright,” he said glancing down at Kent who was slowly starting to battle himself up from the floor again, and kept him down by putting his food on Kent’s chest. Kent sighed and closed his eyes.
“Well then call him from cop-kid’s phone then. Either he’ll answer a call from his friend or you leave him a real threatening message concerning his life. Let’s see if he still has some honour in him,” the leader said towering over Kent.
The number was called and the room was silent. Nobody answered. The automatic answering machine message came on. Beep. The man with the phone sent Kent a wicked grin before telling his friend what gruesome things they intended to do to Kent if he didn’t show up. Then he hung up.
“How long are we gonna give him, before we tear the pup to pieces and leave it here as a message to him?” The big man said.
“Half an hour. If he can’t make that, he's not coming, but we'll make up for the missed date next time we see him then,” the leader said turning towards the front door. “Keep an eye on him and if he makes the faintest of noises, do what you must.”
Kent lay on the floor cursing himself. He was a detective constable. A good one. His friend had murdered a man, and he’d helped him hide the body. Why hadn’t he turned him in? Wouldn’t that have been the best for everybody? Now he was in this predicament and he was entirely to blame for it. There was no one to save him. And he even deserved it. He’d gotten rid of their friend’s body after his mate had killed him. There was no excuse for doing such a thing. He was almost sure Mark wouldn’t return for him. After how afraid he'd been the other night. Kent really couldn’t see any way out of this.
Time dragged on and on, and the little spark of hope Kent had allowed himself to feel extinguished. He was a dead man. At least they’d allowed him to sit upright in the last half hour of his life. He’d tried to find a solution on how to get out of this on his own, but he found it hard thinking clearly, and eventually his focus became trying not to let any tears betray him. He couldn’t let them have this pleasure.
“Time is ticking away!” One of the men informed him in a jolly voice while looking through everything in the living room. Kent swallowed and looked up at him.
“I guess your copper friends will have a bit of a nasty murder on their hands soon, won’t they?” another said crouching down so he was almost at level with Kent who kept his mouth shut at their comments. The man gave Kent a light pat on the cheek. “Cheer up buddy, cause it gets worse!”
Kent shut his eyes tight at the comment which received a throaty laugh from the man.
The leader returned from the front door. “No sight of him. I guess it’s time to leave him a message. Boys!” The last word was a command, and two of the men swooped down on Kent likes birds on a prey and pulled him to his feet while holding onto him. Kent looked from one side to the other in horror.
“Please! Please don’t! I’m sure he’ll be here soon. I don’t know where he is. Maybe he hasn’t heard the message, please!” Even while uttering them, Kent could feel that the words were empty of any truth, and the men would know that as well.
The leader drew a knife and let it dance over Kent’s throat slightly piercing his skin which caused him to whimper unwillingly, tears starting to form his eyes at once.
“Hah, oh you’re going to be fun aren’t you?”
He let the knife trace his neck once more making a sharp cut downwards cutting over the tie around his neck making him flinch violently.
“Oh, watch out for that. Somebody might be hurt,” the leader joked, casually cutting the buttons on Kent’s shirt off. “Let’s see the canvas we’re working on today,” he said with a smirk as a cue to the men holding Kent to remove his suit jacket and shirt, leaving him bare-chested.
“Not a lot of fat on that body. Any cut I give you will slice right through you won’t it?”
“He won’t last long, heh.”
“No, no please! I beg you!” Kent was getting more and more desperate, begging for his life. “I will do everything you ask! Please! No, NO!” A cut was made directly to his chest. He screamed in pain, memories of the striping flooding his mind. Tears were now flowing down his cheeks in an uncontrollable stream, matching the blood pouring out of his wound.
Another cut. This time from the shoulder and down. Kent twisted and yelled in agony, gasping for air while trying to formulate coherent words. “Pl-please! I ca…” his words were broken by a sob, but it didn’t help him, and the next cut was made so it stretched across both of the former cuts. Kent would’ve doubled over in agony if it hadn’t been for the men keeping him in an upright position.
“What a nice colour you’re turning. It suits you far better than that pale skin you’ve been wearing. Let’s see if we can decorate the back as well.” The men turned him over, revealing his back to the leader, and Kent panicked when he felt the knife slice through the lower part of his back.
“NOOO! Not aga….” Gasping for air he managed to cut himself off, but it was too late.
“What was that, pup?” the man beside him inquired, and he tried to shy off to the other side to no avail. He shut his eyes so closely that the tears began to sting in his eyes. The tip of the blade sat at the base of his neck. “Come on! We’re curious!” Kent cursed himself inwards. The pain was making him woozy and his knees were weak. He was dizzy from blood loss, but the blood still flushed his cheeks at the memory.
“Well boss, will you look at that!” The man beside him said cheerfully. “He’s embarrassed, the li’l one!” They roughly turned him around again, stretching his wounds as they did so, which caused him to whimper.
“We’re sparing you right now, so if you don’t tell us what you were about to say, we’ll really have to make up for it afterwards!” he was threatingly informed.
Kent wanted to keep his dignity and didn’t want to tell them, but there was still a small hope that lingered saying that he could maybe get out of this alive, so he obliged.
“Not again,” he said in a weak voice.
“And what did you mean by that? And we really don’t have time for this nonsense, so speak quickly.”
Shivers of pain ran through his body as he tried to draw a big breath to stall the moment a bit. He quickly mumbled. “I was striped once.”
The leader broke into a big grin. “Oh, that’s brilliant. You were striped once and want to be spared having to relive that humiliation ever again, so you panicked? Well let that be a lesson to you, COP, since you’re obviously in knowledge of your friends act, with not a single question as to who we are or why we’re after your friend, you as a cop, must have taken his side then, and that means you’ve antagonised us, so instead of killing you here and now, I have a better plan. You give your little friend the message that we’re going to hunt him down, and in exchange we’ll give you a little gift to show you how nice we can be in return for you doing us that favour.”
Kent’s eyes opened wide, red and shining from the tears, he fixed them on the knife. “No, no! Please! I’ll give him the message! I will!”
The men beside him easily overcame his attempts at a struggle when they turned him around once more. His throat went dry as he tried to plea again. His head dropped in defeat. Maybe they would be over with him after that he thought trying to ignore the pain he was already feeling.
“Let’s see the damage then!”
Kent found he had some more fight in him at those words. His head jolted up. “You can’t!” He tried to look over his shoulder, but the motion made his wounds stretch, and he turned his head forward again. His breath became faster. They couldn’t.
He felt a pair of hands unbuckling his belt before, in a swift motion pulling his pants downwards. In a futile attempt of avoiding this, he spread his legs, but a knife jabbed into the wound on his back made sure he obeyed quickly. Before the second attempt was made, he hung his head low again, closing his eyes, wishing himself far away from the place.
His pants were pulled downwards settling around his ankles, and a taunting laugh came from all his onlookers. Kent started sobbing uncontrollably. He really tried to stop himself, but he already felt like he was stripped from the last of his dignity, and soon he gave up on trying.
“Hah! Those are nice! The scaring, I mean, hehe,” the fourth man who was just looking at the torture commented.
“So what do you think? Should we make an addition to them, or do you think he’ll enjoy the familiar look better?” the leader commented.
“Heh, aren’t four better than two?”
“Hmm… Maybe…” he said sounding thoughtful. “Let’s see. We could do this.” He let the knife trace the old wounds, almost sending Kent into a flash of panic, but he was too afraid to move, and could only stand there, eyes shut, cheeks flushing with anger, pain, and humiliation. “Or this.” He traced a line on both buttoccks right below the old scars, drawing just the smallest hint of blood, causing Kent to tense his entire body. The leader let the knife dance along the lower back reaching the buttocks over and over. “But I’ll let you guys decide.”
“Isn’t new always better, lad?” said one of the men beside Kent putting his face close to Kent who kept still, weeping. “Hah, I’ll take that as a yes.”
“So be it!” Kent could hear what was coming and he tried to prepare himself for what was to come even though there was no use in trying. A swift cut on one side, followed by another and Kent screamed as he’d done before, his knees completely buckling under his weight, and this time the two men beside him, didn’t bother to keep him standing. They let him drop, so he fell flat out on the floor on his stomach, his hands tied behind his back so he couldn’t cushion the fall, and the wounds on his chest sent agonising pain through him threatening him to pass out. He couldn’t keep his head up, and soon it lay in the sticky warm puddle of his own blood which had formed on the floor.
The laughter echoed in the room, as he was once again told to deliver Mark the message. If he survived. This was said accompanied by another laugh as his mobile was dropped next to him, and then they left, not even bothering to close the door.
Kent lay there, not only struggling to free his hands, but also to stay conscious, he’d lost a lot of blood and every jolt of pain sent black dots flying in front of his vision. He felt the knot loosen, and quickly stretched one of his arms out to the side almost knocking him out from the pain it caused. He then gently but quickly reached out for his phone, dialled emergency service, and held the phone to his ear. With the last of his power he managed to tell them what they needed to know, and with a promise of the paramedics arriving soon, he let his head drop down again.
He was hurting all over, and falling somewhat in and out of consciousness, but he was still painfully aware of what he would be looking like for anyone who would come across him. Lying on the floor, no shirt on, his pants around his ankles, and his arse a bloody mess. Maybe it would be someone who’d seen it before. It wouldn’t be news to them what he looked like, all vulnerable and there for the world to see. He only wished he could cover himself up, and hide from everybody’s eyes. Too many people had already seen him like this. Why couldn’t he just have kept his mouth shut?
Soon, too soon for Kent’s hurt pride, the paramedics were there to gaze upon him. Never mind to help him. He could feel their eyes. Hear their taunting thoughts as if they were being yelled at him. On and on in an echo he heard it in his mind.
As Kent had predicted it had been a sleepless night. He was full of guilt and after three hours of turning and tossing in bed, he’d decided to do some work, so he would meet up prepared for work. He’d opted for coffee instead of tea in the morning and had left the apartment before Mark got up.
He’d on purpose decided to show up a bit later than usual this day. Normally he would meet as the second person with only Chandler coming in before him. He usually announced his arrival with a cheery hi, which was either answered by a lovely and polite wish of a good morning or a vague hello depending on the stress levels of the station at the time. Then he’d sit down on his desk, getting to work straight away, while enjoying the silence of the station when it was just him and Chandler.
Riley was there as well when he arrived which made him cheer on the inside. This meant he didn’t have to be alone with Chandler; something he was sure he couldn’t handle. He quietly greeted Riley, and found his place at the desk, starting out with paper work as long as they didn’t have any big case to work on.
Miles was in a bad mood and only acknowledged the rest of the room with a gruffy hello, when he arrived, which suited Kent great. The less people he had to be chitty-chatty with throughout the day the better. But of course he couldn’t ignore the proud and suggesting look he was sent by Mansell when he arrived at work. He just looked straight ahead, hoping that Mansell’s crazy ideas would stay between the two of them, so he didn’t have to come up with excuses. His mind was still racing with guilt, and if any of them were to be a little suspicious of anything at all, he felt he might spill the truth right away.
So he stayed silent and out of the way throughout the day, only contacting Miles about the work that had to be done, politely thanking Riley for her comments on the niceness of his quick recovery, and giving slight nods to his superior whenever they got eye contact.
One time Chandler came over to him, asking for him to research some names, and Kent deliberately avoided looking into his eyes, while only allowing himself to answer yes or no, but still obeying the order. He did notice the look of wonder on Chandler’s face when he walked away, but, luckily for Kent, this was the longest encounter they had all day.
In the break he opted for getting the entire team coffee, effectively avoiding the team at their chattiest moments. And then he put himself 100% into the work in front of him, so he, with a clean conscience, could leave earlier than usual.
He still felt guilty over what he’d done, and wanted to spent as little time with his work mates and in that environment as possible. But despite the fact that he was constantly battling his guilt, at the end of the day he felt like he might actually get through this. Nothing had turned up on their desks that even resembled the murder. When he arrived home he felt confident that he would actually get some sleep that night. Despite the gruesome thing he had been part of, he would eventually be able to forget it and put this whole event in the past.
When he entered the hallway, the smell of Chinese takeaway found his nostrils. They really did need go to the convenience store. He closed the door behind him, and was just about to turn around and yell this at his roommate, when he found himself surrounded by four men. He didn’t even have time to react before he was seized by two of them and forced into the living room, where they bound his hands and pushed him up against the back of the sofa.
One of the men, casually holding a gun, scrutinized him and huffed.
“It’s the flatmate,” he said briefly to the others.
“Wasn’t he the cop?” another man asked leaning closely into Kent’s face. Kent tried steadying his breath, and resisting the urge to spit the man in the face.
“That scrawny pup?” a big guy, one of the men who had grabbed him, said with a laugh, as he kicked his shoulder, so he fell down and had to struggle to get into an upright position again, much to the amusement of the others.
“DC Emerson Kent,” the fourth man announced from the desk Kent had worked on the day before. Some of his papers were still lying around.
“Emerson, eh? Any idea where that mate of yours is?” the man holding a gun said. He seemed like the one in charge.
Kent swallowed, trying to even out his breathing. He had to remain calm. These must be the friends of the victim that he himself had gotten rid of. They would know that the last thing their mate did was go to his dealer - Mark.
“No - I’m afraid not,” Kent said in the calmest voice he could muster, which earned him another kick to the shoulder. This time the man who’d kicked him was the only one laughing. The others were wearing stone hard faces.
“Look ‘ere pup! You call up that friend of yours and have him come over here or else!”
Kent battled himself into an upright position, and was about to comment on his lack of ability to phone his friend while his hands were bound behind his back, when the man kicking him held out a phone to his ear.
“Just say his number, and we’ll make sure you have the right man. You don’t want to know what happens if it isn’t him!” the leader informed him.
Kent didn’t want to take any chances. The only one who wasn’t home from the station yet would be Chandler, and he wouldn’t be able to show up in time, he would be in danger, and his friend would feel like Kent had betrayed him. He told them the number, and the man beside him held the phone to his ear. It took a while, and Kent watched the man’s expression turn grim.
“There’s nobody bloody answering the phone!” he barked.
The man who’d found his name in the papers on the desk strode towards Kent.
“Are you playing games with us, kid?”
He came dangerously close to Kent pushing him down so he lay on the floor, and shoved his hands down one of his trouser pockets. Kent tried fighting him off, but the man just held him down with the length of his underarm pressed against his chest and withdrew Kent’s own phone from his pockets.
He then stood up, grinning down at Kent who lay still for a while trying not to panic.
“The code?” he said briefly looking down at the phone. Kent told him, and he noticed a brief expression of satisfaction on the man’s face, at the fact that he’d given him the correct information.
“Hmph, it was the right number he gave us, alright,” he said glancing down at Kent who was slowly starting to battle himself up from the floor again, and kept him down by putting his food on Kent’s chest. Kent sighed and closed his eyes.
“Well then call him from cop-kid’s phone then. Either he’ll answer a call from his friend or you leave him a real threatening message concerning his life. Let’s see if he still has some honour in him,” the leader said towering over Kent.
The number was called and the room was silent. Nobody answered. The automatic answering machine message came on. Beep. The man with the phone sent Kent a wicked grin before telling his friend what gruesome things they intended to do to Kent if he didn’t show up. Then he hung up.
“How long are we gonna give him, before we tear the pup to pieces and leave it here as a message to him?” The big man said.
“Half an hour. If he can’t make that, he's not coming, but we'll make up for the missed date next time we see him then,” the leader said turning towards the front door. “Keep an eye on him and if he makes the faintest of noises, do what you must.”
Kent lay on the floor cursing himself. He was a detective constable. A good one. His friend had murdered a man, and he’d helped him hide the body. Why hadn’t he turned him in? Wouldn’t that have been the best for everybody? Now he was in this predicament and he was entirely to blame for it. There was no one to save him. And he even deserved it. He’d gotten rid of their friend’s body after his mate had killed him. There was no excuse for doing such a thing. He was almost sure Mark wouldn’t return for him. After how afraid he'd been the other night. Kent really couldn’t see any way out of this.
Time dragged on and on, and the little spark of hope Kent had allowed himself to feel extinguished. He was a dead man. At least they’d allowed him to sit upright in the last half hour of his life. He’d tried to find a solution on how to get out of this on his own, but he found it hard thinking clearly, and eventually his focus became trying not to let any tears betray him. He couldn’t let them have this pleasure.
“Time is ticking away!” One of the men informed him in a jolly voice while looking through everything in the living room. Kent swallowed and looked up at him.
“I guess your copper friends will have a bit of a nasty murder on their hands soon, won’t they?” another said crouching down so he was almost at level with Kent who kept his mouth shut at their comments. The man gave Kent a light pat on the cheek. “Cheer up buddy, cause it gets worse!”
Kent shut his eyes tight at the comment which received a throaty laugh from the man.
The leader returned from the front door. “No sight of him. I guess it’s time to leave him a message. Boys!” The last word was a command, and two of the men swooped down on Kent likes birds on a prey and pulled him to his feet while holding onto him. Kent looked from one side to the other in horror.
“Please! Please don’t! I’m sure he’ll be here soon. I don’t know where he is. Maybe he hasn’t heard the message, please!” Even while uttering them, Kent could feel that the words were empty of any truth, and the men would know that as well.
The leader drew a knife and let it dance over Kent’s throat slightly piercing his skin which caused him to whimper unwillingly, tears starting to form his eyes at once.
“Hah, oh you’re going to be fun aren’t you?”
He let the knife trace his neck once more making a sharp cut downwards cutting over the tie around his neck making him flinch violently.
“Oh, watch out for that. Somebody might be hurt,” the leader joked, casually cutting the buttons on Kent’s shirt off. “Let’s see the canvas we’re working on today,” he said with a smirk as a cue to the men holding Kent to remove his suit jacket and shirt, leaving him bare-chested.
“Not a lot of fat on that body. Any cut I give you will slice right through you won’t it?”
“He won’t last long, heh.”
“No, no please! I beg you!” Kent was getting more and more desperate, begging for his life. “I will do everything you ask! Please! No, NO!” A cut was made directly to his chest. He screamed in pain, memories of the striping flooding his mind. Tears were now flowing down his cheeks in an uncontrollable stream, matching the blood pouring out of his wound.
Another cut. This time from the shoulder and down. Kent twisted and yelled in agony, gasping for air while trying to formulate coherent words. “Pl-please! I ca…” his words were broken by a sob, but it didn’t help him, and the next cut was made so it stretched across both of the former cuts. Kent would’ve doubled over in agony if it hadn’t been for the men keeping him in an upright position.
“What a nice colour you’re turning. It suits you far better than that pale skin you’ve been wearing. Let’s see if we can decorate the back as well.” The men turned him over, revealing his back to the leader, and Kent panicked when he felt the knife slice through the lower part of his back.
“NOOO! Not aga….” Gasping for air he managed to cut himself off, but it was too late.
“What was that, pup?” the man beside him inquired, and he tried to shy off to the other side to no avail. He shut his eyes so closely that the tears began to sting in his eyes. The tip of the blade sat at the base of his neck. “Come on! We’re curious!” Kent cursed himself inwards. The pain was making him woozy and his knees were weak. He was dizzy from blood loss, but the blood still flushed his cheeks at the memory.
“Well boss, will you look at that!” The man beside him said cheerfully. “He’s embarrassed, the li’l one!” They roughly turned him around again, stretching his wounds as they did so, which caused him to whimper.
“We’re sparing you right now, so if you don’t tell us what you were about to say, we’ll really have to make up for it afterwards!” he was threatingly informed.
Kent wanted to keep his dignity and didn’t want to tell them, but there was still a small hope that lingered saying that he could maybe get out of this alive, so he obliged.
“Not again,” he said in a weak voice.
“And what did you mean by that? And we really don’t have time for this nonsense, so speak quickly.”
Shivers of pain ran through his body as he tried to draw a big breath to stall the moment a bit. He quickly mumbled. “I was striped once.”
The leader broke into a big grin. “Oh, that’s brilliant. You were striped once and want to be spared having to relive that humiliation ever again, so you panicked? Well let that be a lesson to you, COP, since you’re obviously in knowledge of your friends act, with not a single question as to who we are or why we’re after your friend, you as a cop, must have taken his side then, and that means you’ve antagonised us, so instead of killing you here and now, I have a better plan. You give your little friend the message that we’re going to hunt him down, and in exchange we’ll give you a little gift to show you how nice we can be in return for you doing us that favour.”
Kent’s eyes opened wide, red and shining from the tears, he fixed them on the knife. “No, no! Please! I’ll give him the message! I will!”
The men beside him easily overcame his attempts at a struggle when they turned him around once more. His throat went dry as he tried to plea again. His head dropped in defeat. Maybe they would be over with him after that he thought trying to ignore the pain he was already feeling.
“Let’s see the damage then!”
Kent found he had some more fight in him at those words. His head jolted up. “You can’t!” He tried to look over his shoulder, but the motion made his wounds stretch, and he turned his head forward again. His breath became faster. They couldn’t.
He felt a pair of hands unbuckling his belt before, in a swift motion pulling his pants downwards. In a futile attempt of avoiding this, he spread his legs, but a knife jabbed into the wound on his back made sure he obeyed quickly. Before the second attempt was made, he hung his head low again, closing his eyes, wishing himself far away from the place.
His pants were pulled downwards settling around his ankles, and a taunting laugh came from all his onlookers. Kent started sobbing uncontrollably. He really tried to stop himself, but he already felt like he was stripped from the last of his dignity, and soon he gave up on trying.
“Hah! Those are nice! The scaring, I mean, hehe,” the fourth man who was just looking at the torture commented.
“So what do you think? Should we make an addition to them, or do you think he’ll enjoy the familiar look better?” the leader commented.
“Heh, aren’t four better than two?”
“Hmm… Maybe…” he said sounding thoughtful. “Let’s see. We could do this.” He let the knife trace the old wounds, almost sending Kent into a flash of panic, but he was too afraid to move, and could only stand there, eyes shut, cheeks flushing with anger, pain, and humiliation. “Or this.” He traced a line on both buttoccks right below the old scars, drawing just the smallest hint of blood, causing Kent to tense his entire body. The leader let the knife dance along the lower back reaching the buttocks over and over. “But I’ll let you guys decide.”
“Isn’t new always better, lad?” said one of the men beside Kent putting his face close to Kent who kept still, weeping. “Hah, I’ll take that as a yes.”
“So be it!” Kent could hear what was coming and he tried to prepare himself for what was to come even though there was no use in trying. A swift cut on one side, followed by another and Kent screamed as he’d done before, his knees completely buckling under his weight, and this time the two men beside him, didn’t bother to keep him standing. They let him drop, so he fell flat out on the floor on his stomach, his hands tied behind his back so he couldn’t cushion the fall, and the wounds on his chest sent agonising pain through him threatening him to pass out. He couldn’t keep his head up, and soon it lay in the sticky warm puddle of his own blood which had formed on the floor.
The laughter echoed in the room, as he was once again told to deliver Mark the message. If he survived. This was said accompanied by another laugh as his mobile was dropped next to him, and then they left, not even bothering to close the door.
Kent lay there, not only struggling to free his hands, but also to stay conscious, he’d lost a lot of blood and every jolt of pain sent black dots flying in front of his vision. He felt the knot loosen, and quickly stretched one of his arms out to the side almost knocking him out from the pain it caused. He then gently but quickly reached out for his phone, dialled emergency service, and held the phone to his ear. With the last of his power he managed to tell them what they needed to know, and with a promise of the paramedics arriving soon, he let his head drop down again.
He was hurting all over, and falling somewhat in and out of consciousness, but he was still painfully aware of what he would be looking like for anyone who would come across him. Lying on the floor, no shirt on, his pants around his ankles, and his arse a bloody mess. Maybe it would be someone who’d seen it before. It wouldn’t be news to them what he looked like, all vulnerable and there for the world to see. He only wished he could cover himself up, and hide from everybody’s eyes. Too many people had already seen him like this. Why couldn’t he just have kept his mouth shut?
Soon, too soon for Kent’s hurt pride, the paramedics were there to gaze upon him. Never mind to help him. He could feel their eyes. Hear their taunting thoughts as if they were being yelled at him. On and on in an echo he heard it in his mind.