"Perhaps, if I leave the knife buried in your flesh for a few more hours, you'll be more amenable the next time I ask you a question." Ragnar said calmly, sounding unperturbed by what he just did.
Without waiting for a response, he shoved the blade deeper and twisted it sharply.
Jorrit cried out, the sound raw and broken as the pain intensified, tearing through him until it was all he could feel. His breathing became ragged, sweat breaking out across his brow.
Ragnar leaned in close, invading the space that remained between them until Jorrit was forced to lift his head and meet his gaze.
"Since you couldn't answer my last question," Ragnar continued quietly, "let me ask you an easier one. How many holes do I have to poke into your flesh before you decide to talk?" His lips curved faintly. "I think five is a fair number, don't you? Though I can always make the number higher, if you prefer."
