I was suddenly glad I hadn't eaten before coming down. Only a few got to see Clayton's handiwork and there was a reason for that. If people did, they might and did assume he was sadistic, cruel, a bastard of a man. And he could be, if a mutt threatened his pack, he could be all those things and was more than happy to make sure the world knew it.
It made me suddenly glad that I was pack now.
The cell had never been so full before. Demetruis was there, blindfolded, his skin shiny with sweat. He probably hadn't seen a thing but his ears and nose, however much he tried to ignore the fact he was a mutt, would not have hidden this from him when it was so close. It was apart of the intimidation, I guessed, let him hear and smell what he might be in for. The less Clayton had to actually do with a knife, the better. Easier. He only acted the sadistic cruel bastard, I had this feeling that he loathed drawing out kills, tormenting prey, because this was not something a wolf did. This was something a human did. Clayton always preferred the wolf's approach to life and I couldn't disagree.
The man I'd savaged in the bedroom was more or less untouched, aside from the wounds I'd inflicted, and unconscious. Drugged, from the smell of him, probably not having heard or seen a thing. The woman and the other man were not drugged and were semi-concious for a whole other reason. They stank, stank of blood, sweat, urine, the man had shitted himself at some point, but I suspected Clayton got what he wanted.
“Help me clean them up.” He took a towel and I did. It looked worse than it really was, as blood usually did, his technique more about fear than causing a ton of damage. Reece was told to clean up the cell a bit.
“Get answers?”
He didn't need to answer. He just nodded, a quick jerk of the head, as I tried to get shit off them with a hose connected to a tap down here. It was crude, to hose them down like this over the tiny drain, but it was the best idea we had. I leaned on the crutches as I did it, Clayton more or less helping, his disgust of them evident. Mutt or witch or demon or human, nothing had proven itself to be worth much to him.
“You gonna be okay with those?” Clayton's eyes went to the crutches and I nodded.
“No problem.”
“Good. Go let them know they're ready for delivery.” He nudged at me and took the hose, turning it off, leaving them soaking wet.
I went upstairs and knocked on the door. When the other bodyguard came to answer, the same one as that'd stayed near us in the apartment, Tony or something, I repeated the message and he nodded, shutting the door again.
Clayton hadn't said 'stay upstairs' so I went back down and let him know the message was delivered.
About five minutes later they came for them, as we leaned against the wall, but Clayton stood between them and Demetruis, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, making it clear that he was not going anywhere. Not yet. We watched them cart the soaking wet pair upstairs, then the injured man who'd apparently helped us, Reece leaning against the wall, Clayton staying near Demetruis, and I on the crutches.
There were more arguments upstairs, soft ones, Elena and Benicio Cortez discussing something, but we waited patiently. Clayton refused to budge. I had to admit, I was on his side with this, we'd been waiting for our turn for a long fucking time.
Finally they left us alone, taking the other captives with them, and we were left with the prized one. Elena called down the stairs, “You only get him for one day. He has to be alive at the end,” and then shut the door and left us to it.
“Go get the tool. And some alcohol.” Clayton's eyes met mine and Reece and we nodded, heading upstairs, slipping something out of the drawer as the rest of the house were distracted by Benicio Cortez's little procession vanishing down the driveway again. I headed back down with it in one hand, Reece with a glass of something, him heading ahead of me down the stairs so that if I slipped with crutches... I had to assume that why he rushed ahead, anyway.
