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“Look, I don’t want to be here either, but unfortunately I have this video . . .”

I fast-forward to the part where he speaks. “Come on, doll. Smile for us.”

My jaw clenches. “Yeah. That got your attention, didn’t it?”

Peter tries to act unimpressed, but I’ve spent enough time around men like him to know he’s covering fear with ego.

“You still think consequences are for other people, don’t you? Rules for thee and not for me?” I adjust my wolf mask. “Unfortunately, for you, I am here to remedy that misunderstanding.”

He lunges at me as much as the restraints allow, which is to say . . . not much.

I grab the pliers from the table, tossing them into the air with a lazy flick and catching them again.

His face screws up into a grimace. “You’re fuckin’ crazy!”

I hold my next toss, pausing my gaze on him. “Yeah, but like, in a whimsical way, right?”

He exhales hard through his nose, as if trying to release the pent-up rage.

“I mean . . .” I point to my wolf mask. “Look at all this whimsy.”

He jerks again like he’s trying to hit me.

“You know what it is?” I begin, standing and pacing the floor, flipping the pliers again. “It’s the fucking entitlement. The audacity. The idea that a woman can look like she’s inches from death while being raped and he tells her to fucking smile. I’ll be honest with you, Pete. That really pisses me off.”

“Peter,” he snaps, correcting me.

“Welp. We should probably get started.” I give the pliers one last spin before I lift my chin at him. “Open up.”

He spits at me, unfortunately hitting his target. “Fuck you!”

“Your vibes are atrocious.”

I wipe the spit from my cheek and punch him in the face, startling him. I take advantage of his dazed state to fit the cheek retractor into his mouth, drawing back his lips. He wriggles around, but I’m able to pop in a mouth block first, opening up his jaw as wide as his bone structure allows. I hum along to the music while setting everything in place.

Drool pours from his chin when he groans, trying to form words but it all sounds like blather. I have no idea how dental hygienists can understand people like this. It’s ridiculous.

“Those aren’t the words,” I shout, shaking my head, as the guy is screaming, drowning out the chorus.

Grabbing the work light, I shine it up into his face so I can see in his mouth. As soon as I wrap my hand around my pliers, he gets really jumpy. Okay, well he was doing great up until now. His tongue flaps around as he frantically tries to speak. I’ve never removed teeth before, but how hard can it be?

I wedge the pliers in his mouth, gripping each side of one of his molars, and tug. Peter Bodner hollers, but it’s more like fear than pain. We’ll get to that part shortly. I try again, adding more force. “Man, that thing is really in there!”

He whips his head around, trying to recoil, but the more he wrenches away, the more it loosens the tooth. “Don’t thrash like that, you’ll make me excited,” I warn.

I yank on the fucker and it doesn’t come.

“This is so embarrassing.” I unlock my phone and open YouTube, finding a how-to video on tooth extraction. I watch a minute of it while this jackoff starts screaming for help as if anyone is going to hear him.

“Listen to this part,” I say, backing up the last ten seconds. I turn the screen toward him so he can watch along with me. “Does that make sense to you? Buccolingual rocking—what? I think they’re saying I have to jiggle the tooth back and forth, right? Why don’t they just say it that way?” I roll my eyes and set down the phone, then grab the foam plugs out of my pocket and stuff them into my ear canals. Something tells me this guy is about to get even louder than he is, which is disappointing because I really like this song. I would have drugged him, but I think it’s important he stay awake for this part.

I fist a handful of Peter’s hair to hold his head still, and with the other hand I skillfully apply firm pressure, pulling down with a side-to-side motion.

He’s screaming as loud as he can and it’s still pretty fucking loud when I’m this close to his mouth. The veins in his forehead look like they’re about to rupture.

Then, like a stubborn pickle jar that gets enough elbow grease, I sense a little give. “Oh, I think it’s working, Pete!” I continue the rocking motion and his screaming turns guttural as I successfully dislodge the tooth. Blood pours down his chin, mixing with his spit.

“Ta-da!” I hold up the pliers triumphantly, showing off the tooth and scraggly root in its grasp.