Chapter 64
Trigger Warning: Graphic Violence, Torture, Emotional Trauma
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Jace stood rigid, and every nerve in his body strung tight as a bowstring. His eyes locked on Justin.
Justin was still slumped in the chair, head rolling forward, water dripping down his chin. Lorenzo’s men, towering and faceless in the dim light, obeyed their boss’s sharp command. A second bucket of water splashed over Justin, and this time, he jolted upright, sputtering and gasping. His chest heaved, his bound wrists straining against the ropes that cut into his skin.
“Lift him,” Lorenzo ordered.
The guards hauled Justin and the chair upright, slamming the wooden legs against the concrete floor. Justin coughed, shaking his head like a wet dog, his eyes glassy but alive.
Lorenzo stepped closer, his sharp suit almost mocking against the ruin of the place. His voice was calm, but the menace under it was unmistakable.
“Justin, I’m done playing games with you. Tell me what you know about Victor Crane. Why did he give you the order to kill Jace’s parents?”
For a moment, Justin only stared. Then, without warning, he gathered spit in his mouth and flung it at Lorenzo’s face.
“I would never tell you a goddamn thing, you piece of trash.”
The sound of spit landing echoed louder than it should have. Jace stiffened, his stomach twisting. Lorenzo froze, eyes narrowing. Slowly, with a controlled grace that was more terrifying than rage, he pulled a pristine white hanky from his pocket. He wiped his cheek, neat and deliberate, then tossed the cloth onto the ground like it carried disease.
His jaw ticked. “Hit him.”
One of the guards obeyed instantly. The crack of a fist meeting Justin’s face echoed, followed by a grunt of pain. Blood trickled down from Justin’s lip, staining the collar of his shirt.
Jace’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to hit Justin, too, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused. But a darker, more unsettling part of him was not prepared for what Lorenzo said next.
“Bring the equipment.”
Jace’s heart stumbled in his chest. Equipment?
Minutes later, the men returned. One carried a heavy table, slamming it down beside Lorenzo with a dull thud. The other carried a black box, rectangular and ominous. They placed it gently on the table, as though it contained something sacred.
Jace’s eyes darted between Lorenzo and the box, unease crawling across his skin.
When Lorenzo flipped open the lid, Jace’s breath hitched.
Inside lay a collection of instruments that screamed one purpose to cause pain.
There were knives of varying sizes, their edges gleaming under the swinging light bulb. An electric taser, humming faintly as if hungry for flesh, a coiled whip, frayed at the ends from past use, Rusted pliers, A branding iron blackened at the tip Next to it, a small lighter, fuel canister still attached, the flame nozzle sharp.
Jace swallowed hard. His stomach churned. He had seen violence in movies, in the bars, even on the streets. But this— this was something else.
Lorenzo’s hand hovered over the knives over the taser before settling on the branding iron. He held it up, its blackened steel tip catching the light. Then he reached for the lighter, flicked it open, and fire hissed to life.
He placed the iron above the flame. The hiss grew louder, sharper. Jace could smell it metal warming, the promise of agony.
“Why?” Jace found himself whispering, though no one heard.
The longer the lighter burned, the more the iron glowed. Red at first, then deeper, almost white-hot at the tip. The air shimmered around it.
When Lorenzo finally spoke, his voice was steady, almost casual.
“I will give you one last chance, Justin. Tell us all you know about Victor Crane, and I will let you walk out of here.”
Justin lifted his head, his face twisted with pain and defiance. His lips split in a bloody grin.
“Never, Lorenzo.”
Lorenzo smirked as if that answer had been expected.
“I knew you would say that. It's time for the fun part.”
And then he pressed the iron against Justin’s arm.
The sound came first, and the searing hiss of flesh meeting fire, followed instantly by the piercing scream that tore from Justin’s throat.
The smell hit next. Burning skin, acrid, and suffocating filled the air. Jace gagged, his stomach flipping, bile rising. His entire body froze, horror rooting him to the floor.
Justin thrashed in the chair, veins straining in his neck, his face twisting into a grotesque mask of pain. He screamed until his voice cracked until his throat was raw.
Jace’s hands shook. He wanted to look away, to turn his head, but he could not. He was transfixed by the sight of Justin writhing by the smoke rising from his scorched flesh.
Somewhere inside him, a voice begged him to stop this madness. But another voice a darker, angrier one whispered
To him that this was not even close to the pain his parents felt. This did not compare to the years him and Noah starved. The nights they went hungry, the days he watched his brother grow weaker and weaker while this man lived free.
Lorenzo pulled the iron away, the sickening brand etched deep into Justin’s arm. He handed it off to one of his men, who immediately set it back over the flame to reheat.
“Ready to talk now?” Lorenzo asked, his tone deceptively patient.
Justin gasped for air, sweat and blood dripping down his face. He looked up through the strands of hair stuck to his forehead and spat out his answer between ragged breaths.
“I… I would never tell you shit.”
On cue, the henchman handed the glowing iron back to Lorenzo.
This time, Lorenzo did not waste words. He stepped forward, grabbed the collar of Justin’s shirt, and ripped it open. The fabric tore with a harsh sound, exposing Justin’s chest.
Jace’s heart pounded in his throat. He knew what was coming.
“No...” Jace whispered, but his voice was drowned out by the scream that followed.
Lorenzo pressed the iron directly against Justin’s chest over his heart.
The sound was horrific. Justin’s scream rattled the walls, echoing through the hollow building. His body bucked against the restraints, the chair creaking under his thrashing. The stench of charred flesh filled the room until Jace’s eyes watered until it coated his tongue like poison.
Jace gripped his own arms so tightly his nails dug into his skin. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to continue. He did not know what he wanted anymore.