Bane lifted the girl, then dropped her with a grunt. He flung himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, his nostrils flared with thwarted rage. Beating her was not as much fun as he had thought it would be. She was too helpless, too weak. It was like stepping on a slug, hardly satisfying at all. It had been much more fun setting the captain’s beard alight. The man had guts.
If the girl only had an ounce of defiance, he would have enjoyed it. He had given up feeding her meat for the same reason. She simply ate it without protest, then was sick afterwards. Torturing her with another’s pain was equally boring. All she did was whimper and wail, beg him to stop, and weep sickeningly. If she had tried to stop him, put up some sort of physical or verbal fight, it would have been far more fun. The only reason he kept her alive now was because she was supposed to be a threat to him, and he enjoyed a challenge. Closing his eyes, he drifted into an untroubled sleep.