Pearce Hudson: #1 My Italian Devil

38. All is fair in love and war

(Pearce's P.O.V)

Slowly, I felt pieces of me come back to reality. I heard my pulse in my ears, feeling in my hands and feet, and finally breathing. I gasped taking in as much oxygen I could. As I breathed in, there was a lingering smell in the air, it smelled like fish, no ammonia. My eyes flew open. I took a few minutes to adjust to the dim lights.

"There you go," a voice said. It was definitely not Ross. Ross. With his name on my mind I stood up, or tried to, I was restricted. I looked down, my wrists were in metal cuffs attached wooden arms of a chair. My legs were also strapped down. My vision was blurry but I saw a figure a meters away from me, also in a chair and strapped down.

"Pearce," Ross said. His face was bruised, from the punches he'd received but other than that he looked unharmed. He tried to reach for me but couldn't move.

I struggled again to get up but the cuffs dug in my skin. I glance around the room. It was a large open room with dirty walls and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The floor was grey and also dirty, with splotches of red and brown, fresh and dried blood. There was a metal table a few paces away from us. On it were glittering silver objects, next to the objects were our coat, boots, gun, badges and cellphones. On top of the pile of clothes was my purse.

"Pearce," Ross called again. I turned to him.

"Are you hurt?" I asked my throat dry.

"No. You?"

"I'm okay. Where are we?"

"Hell," the same voice that had spoken to me earlier said. "You're in Hell." He threw something white on the floor. Smelling salts, that would explain the ammonia.

"And you're supposed to Lucifer?" my shackles dug in my skin as tried to pulled my hand out again.

"Clearly you've not met my Boss," he moved behind me. "Or you wouldn't be saying that. But he has his hands full at the moment or else he would've been here to personally see to you."

"And your Boss is?" Ross asked as the man moved from behind me to the table.

He didn't reply and instead picked up a stainless steel scalpel from the table. "The Boss only has a few questions for you. Now you can answer or I can persuade you."

"Go ahead and kill us," I growled at him.

He brought the scalpel to my face, running the sharpened end around my cheek. "You won't be leaving this place alive true but there are worst things than death. Oh don't worry you'll die very slowly. I'll cut of fingers, then limbs, then an eyeball, a ear. Then I'll move onto organs, spleen, appendix, a kidney. At last I'll drain you of your blood, it's good donate blood. In the end you won't even be able to beg to die, I'll just keep you alive to carve your body."

"Stay away from her!" Ross shouted.

"Someone's all riled up. I think I'll start with you." He took a few steps in Ross's direction.

"If you wanna torture someone torture me!" I yelled at him.

"Self-sacrificial," the man smiled. "This is going to be so much fun." He whistled and another man entered the room through a dark passage, in his hands was a car battery and cables. "Now before we get started do any of you want to share anything. I can start. Hi I'm Grant, today I'm going to be your torturer."

I stopped screaming at some point and just let him shock me, senseless. There was screaming but it wasn't me, it was Ross. My head dropped down and my stringy hair fell around my face, sweat ran down my shirt. My stomach sore and aching from where Grant shocked me. I was like a fish out of water, struggling to breath, when he stopped.

"You're a tough bitch," Grant wiped the picana electrica on my pant leg.

"Pearce," Ross whispered.

I opened my eyes in thin slits. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

"He won't be," Grant commented. Grant had done as I told him and only tortured me.

"No. No. Me, torture me." My voice barely audible.

"As fun as that sounds," Grant shifted to Ross. The picana buzzed to life, "can't kill you."

There was flesh burning smell as Grant buried the picana in Ross's stomach. Ross clamped his mouth shut and squirmed in the chair. "How many FBI Agents are here in Boston?! What are there names?! Where's your headquarters?! What do you know about Dante Capaldi."

There was a little zap! every time the picana touched Ross and every time I winced. Like me he refused to answer.

"Stop! Just stop!" I cried out. Grant stopped, "Are you going to answer my questions?"

I looked Ross. He face distorted in pain but he shook his head. Grant shocked Ross a few more times before dropping the picana on the table. How long has it been? Hours? Days? I knew the team wouldn't be coming to our rescue after I had drilled into Jessica's head to leave if I ever got caught. Did they know that we were gone?

"Clearly this isn't working," Grant went over to the table and lifted up, a syringe and a small bottle to show us. He stuck the needle end of the syringe into the bottle and pulled the plunger. He tapped the syringe. "Let's experiment."

He came towards me and pressed on the plunger, so little bit of the liquid squirted out. His free hand shot and held me down as he inched the needle in my neck. "Last chance. Are you going to talk?"

I gritted my teeth and tense up. "No."

"Suit yourself," Grant replied as he pressed down on the plunger and the clear solution in the syringe disappeared into my bloodstream.