Chapter 27
The room was silent except for the sounds coming from the overhead lights. Cold, sterile. I’d designed it that way. A place where fear had no escape routes, where soundproof walls swallowed every scream.
The men were shackled to steel chairs, their wrists bound to it, their ankles locked. Sweat slicked their foreheads, dripping into the cuts and bruises I’d already given them earlier. They’d been waiting. They knew this was coming.
I paced slowly in front of them, a gun in one hand, a knife in the other. The blade gleamed under the light, sharp enough to show their reflections. I could see their eyes staring back at themselves—wide, darting, already breaking.
I tapped the barrel of my gun against the first man’s cheek. Click. The sound was deliberate. He flinched, but I only smiled. Then I moved to the second man, repeating the same motion, tapping his cheek like I was greeting an old friend. The third tried to hold still, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed him.
“Let’s try this again,” I said, my tone casual, as though I was asking about the weather. “Who started the fire? What do you know about it?”
They exchanged glances, quick, and nervous. The first man swallowed hard. “We—we don’t know anything. Nothing.”
I tilted my head, studying him.
“You don’t know anything,” I repeated slowly, letting the words hang. “That’s the story you’re sticking with?”
Silence.
I crouched beside him, close enough to smell the fear seeping from his skin. Then, without warning, I grabbed his ear, pulling his head back. His body jerked against the restraints, but the shackles held him still. I pressed the blade against the soft flesh, dragging it just enough for him to feel the edge. His breath hitched.
And then I cut.
His scream split the room, raw and ragged, echoing off the soundproof walls. He thrashed, the chair rattling against the floor, but there was nowhere to go. Blood streamed down his neck, staining his shirt, dripping onto the concrete.
The others shouted, pulling against their bonds, their faces twisted with panic. I turned my gaze to them, calmly.
“Do you see how quickly lies become useless here?” I asked, wiping the blade on the man’s shirt before moving to the next.
The second man tried to shake his head, sputtering. “We don’t—please, we don’t know—”
I didn’t give him time to finish. The knife slashed across the side of his ear, not cutting it clean off but tearing enough for agony to explode through him. His scream was louder than the first’s. I watched his blood drip, watched it splatter on the floor in rhythmic drops.
The sound soothed me. Controlled chaos. Predictable pain. It was bliss.
I smiled. “Music to my ears.”
By the third man, they were begging before I even touched him. But begging meant nothing. I pressed the blade deeper, letting the sharp edge carve into his skin. The smell of metallic blood thickened in the room.
Still, they kept denying. Kept swearing they didn’t know who lit the fire.
I leaned against the wall, wiping the blade slowly, deliberately. “Interesting,” I murmured. “So loyal you’d rather bleed than talk.”
The third man’s chest heaved. His voice shook as he spat out, “It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter what we say. We’ll die anyway.”
That caught my attention. I turned to him, raising an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at my mouth. “Ah. So you’re not completely useless. You finally admit it.”
His jaw clenched. Sweat poured down his temple. But he didn’t speak again.
“You’ll die anyway,” I repeated, pacing in front of them. “Yet here you are, protecting someone at the expense of your lives. Admirable.” I crouched in front of him, bringing my face level with his. “Stupid, but admirable.”
None of them answered. But fear radiated from them like heat waves.
I straightened, the gun heavy in my hand. “You hurt someone tonight. Someone who matters.” My tone hardened, every word clipped. “And I don’t forgive that.”
Before they could react, I fired.
The first bullet tore through a kneecap. The man howled, his chair clattering as he convulsed against the restraints.
“That,” I said coldly, smoke curling from the barrel, “is for hurting Lucia.”
I turned to the next, firing into his leg. He screamed, his voice cracking under the pain.
“That’s for making her afraid.”
One by one, I shot each of them in the legs. The room was filled with cries and the stench of blood. They writhed, their bodies jerking violently, but the chairs held them in place.
I walked slowly, savoring their agony. Then I raised the gun again, pressing the barrel against the temple of the first man.
“And this…” I pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, blood spraying. “…is for ever thinking you could touch someone that matters to me.”
I moved to the second, then the third, then the fourth. Each shot was clean, and final. Skulls bursted, bodies slumped lifeless in their chairs. The silence that followed was thick broken only by the sound of their blood dripping onto the floor.
I blew gently across the barrel, letting the smoke curl away.
Sliding the gun into its holster, I pulled a white handkerchief from my pocket. My hands were soaked, blood seeping into every crease of my skin. I wiped them slowly, deliberately, until the fabric was crimson. Then I dropped the handkerchief onto the floor and stepped over it.
I opened the door, and my guards snapped to attention outside. Their faces were devoid of any emotion, because they had been trained not to flinch.
“Dispose of the bodies,” I ordered. My voice was calm, as though I’d just finished a meeting instead of an execution. “Clean the room.”
“Yes, sir.”
I didn’t look back.
I climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, until I reached my suite. The silence of my private quarters pressed in on me, a stark contrast to the screams that had filled the chamber minutes ago.
I stripped off my bloodstained shirt and tossed it aside, walking straight to the bathroom. The mirror caught my reflection—splattered in red, jaw clenched hard from fury, and eyes burning.
I turned on the shower. Scalding water gushed out, its steam clouding the glass. I stepped in, letting the heat pound against me, washing away the blood. But it didn’t wash away the thoughts.
I pressed my hands against the tile, lowering my head under the stream. My fists tightened until my knuckles cracked. I slammed one against the wall, the impact vibrating up my arm.
Why hadn’t I killed them at the warehouse? Why had I waited?
Because of her.
Because I didn’t want Lucia to see me like this again—covered in blood, grinning at the sight of broken men. She’d already seen enough. The fear in her eyes had cut deeper than any blade.
I closed my eyes, as the water poured down my face, and breathed hard. Somewhere along the line, she’d crossed from being an employee—just another piece on the board—to someone else. Someone who mattered.
I hit the wall again, harder, my hand throbbing from the force. The tile cracked faintly under my fist. The sound echoed in the chamber, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the thought gnawing at me.
Who was pulling the strings? Who had the power to turn my own men against me?