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"—And so the only way Domingo is getting out is if he pretends to snitch, understand?"
"Mhm...mhm..." Nick was listening, of course—if listening included leaning his face on his hand and keeping half-lidded eyes, nearly glazed over on his lawyer as he spoke. He couldn't exactly help it either, that pleasant drawl of his was enough to lull anyone into a coma. And with each sentence, he could feel himself being pulled further back away from the topic.
"We need to arrange—Nick," Hayko snapped suddenly and pressed his lips together tightly. "Are you even listening?"
"Nope," he mumbled back, fidgeting as he slouched in his chair and yawned. "You aren't exactly a pinnacle of entertainment, yeah?"
As the insult registered, Nick's grin grew watching his face contort from 'slightly miffed' to rage and that simply delighted him. It wasn't easy to get on the man's nerves, but it wasn't too hard either and Nick was an opportunist like that. They sat together in a small lounge room, adjacent to the rest of the gang and it radiated warmth, dimly lit with lamps scattered across the walls, one, two, he counted, three. . . oh. Oh.
Nick was mid-count of the charming antique lamps until his eyes fell on something more interesting. A dartboard. His lips fought down a smile as he admired the vibrant reds and greens, the little, white numbers— all 360 degrees of it. Then just as naturally, he worked his gaze back to Hayko, who was in the middle of a rant about having to constantly repeat himself, his irritated inflection buzzing in the back of Nick's mind. Now, something sadistic flashed across his expression and Nick's eyes narrowed on Hayko whose fast-paced speech was now carefully slowing down, nervously and he saw Hayko's throat bob in a swallow.
Nick licked his lips and asked, "Ever played darts?"
. . .
Whiz. Thud. And a horrified scream muffled by the gag that had been shoved in Hayko's mouth when he had been tied against the board, his wrists roped roughly next to each ear where he couldn't even pull them up to defend himself from the torture.
"Let's hope my aim isn't too sloppy, yeah?" Nick choked on his laughter and threw the next dart, landing millimeters from the man's eye, hazed over with tears and panic.
Hayko shook in terror, his heart thudding so hard that he thought it might give out before Nick killed him and flinched back instantly as another dart sank by his ribs. Sweat dripped off his face, dread taking over every sense like an itchy chill. Adrenaline surged through every inch of his body and he could barely hold back his whimpers.
"Back in '15, I used to play darts with Camila. Just like this." On "this," Nick let the metal tip fly out of his hand and soar before planting right into Hayko's right shoulder.
A sobbing grunt of pain fought its way up to his throat, stopped in its tracks by the gag as Hayko's breaths escaped, shallow and rapid, bordering on screams.
"You know, you were so boring that I was about to fall asleep but this oughta wake me up," his smooth British lilt rang through the room and his hand moved for another dart only to stop suddenly. So suddenly, in fact, that it was suspicious—
Hayko's breath caught. No.
The psychopath's attention had turned to a bamboo knife rack nearby and in each slot was a perfectly shaped piece of Japanese metal. Perfectly sharpened too. Across his face, a smile stretched wider now and their eyes met. Nick chuckled softly with a pitying look. "Oh, Hayko."
No. No. No. He began shaking his head vigorously, protesting through the gag before he had even heard the 'shlunk' of the blade being unsheathed, with great care taken to show exactly what was about to be flung at him. Cries bubbled up in his throat and he didn't stop them from tearing out desperately at Nick, muffled and incoherent though they were.
And Nick didn't seem to be paying attention—no surprise there.
"You ready, cutie?" he breathed. "Here, I'll count down for you so it's easier. From five, here we go. Five, four, one."
Before Hayko could register anything, the edge came ripping through the air and planted with a thud right above Hayko's head, who threw his head back on impulse and sobbed.
He could hear nothing, nothing but Nick's wicked cackles as he grabbed the next knife and swung it violently at his target. Only this time, there wasn't a confirming 'thud' but instead a cry of pain where the blade had sunk.
Hayko let his tears cascade down his face and forced them out through his eyes squeezed shut, groaning through his weeps, feeling each sharp sting and burn sear through his nervous system. He wanted it to end so badly. Just wanted it to end. Not just this twisted game of the sadist's sexual gratification, all of it. Just wanted to be free, away from all of this, away from him in a safer place.
He hoped the next knife would hit him square in the skull.
"Whew, clearly I need to practice more," came Nick's shaking laughter and he gripped the next knife threateningly. "You're doing great, love. Doing great."
Another knife landed a hand above the first. Another whizzed past his ear. Another landed in his arm—a scream of pain as the torment licked him up, ripped apart his mind, and then a groan of satisfaction from Nick.
And another, and another, and another.
"I'm gonna keep you with me forever, you know that? I'm never letting you go." And Nick threw the last knife.