Chapter 65
Trigger Warning: Graphic Violence, Torture, Emotional Trauma
The air in the abandoned building was heavy and thick with the stink of burnt flesh, sweat, and fear. Jace’s stomach knotted with every sound that came out of Justin’s throat every scream, every grunt, every stubborn silence that followed. He had lost count of how many times Lorenzo had pressed that iron to Justin’s skin. But Lorenzo had not.
Forty-seven minutes.
That’s how long the cycle had gone on heat, burn, scream, silence. And Justin still had not said a word about Victor Crane.
Jace could not understand it. If it were him, if he were strapped to that chair, with every inch of his skin branded like cattle, he would have broken long ago. But Justin, this man who had destroyed everything sat there trembling, bloodied and scorched but still refused to break.
Lorenzo, however, looked almost amused. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his temples, but his smile had not wavered once. He crouched in front of Justin, eyes gleaming like a predator’s.
“Justin,” he said, laughter rumbling low in his chest. “I knew you would be hard to crack. But this…” His voice trailed, head tilting as though he admired Justin’s endurance. “This is better than I expected. Thank goodness I prepared.”
Justin’s head lolled to the side. His breaths were shallow, his skin pale beneath the streaks of sweat and blood. His lips curled, though, into something that looked dangerously like a smirk. His voice was hoarse, but the words carried a bite.
“The moment my men get here, Lorenzo…” he wheezed, spitting blood onto the floor. “You and your lackeys will be dead meat.”
A sharp bark of laughter burst from Lorenzo, echoing through the hollow building. He stood, towering over Justin like a shadow stretching too long.
“By the time they get here,” Lorenzo said, voice silken and cold, “you will already be dead. Unless…” His grin widened as he sauntered back to the black box. “…you give us what we are asking for.”
Jace’s throat was dry, his heart hammering in his chest. He did not know what was worse between Justin’s stubbornness or Lorenzo’s unnerving calm.
Lorenzo flipped open the lid again, his hand hovering over the blades, the whip, the taser. But he did not take any of those. His fingers closed around a new weapon a set of pliers so silver it gleamed even in the weak light. He turned them over in his hands, almost playful, as if he were testing their weight.
When he turned back to Justin, the smile on his face was something feral.
“Ready to speak yet, Justin?”
Justin said nothing. His gaze lifted, defiant despite the blood running down his chin. The silence was an answer, and Lorenzo took it as such.
Without warning, Lorenzo grabbed Justin’s left hand, forcing it flat against the armrest of the chair. Justin tried to jerk away, but the ropes binding his wrists cut deeper, leaving him helpless. Lorenzo positioned the pliers over his index finger, the cold metal clipping tight just under the nail.
Jace’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what was coming next.
Lorenzo yanked.
Justin’s scream ripped through the building, jagged and raw. The sound clawed at Jace’s ears, at his chest, at the pit of his stomach. He winced as he watched blood gush from the exposed nail bed, crimson spilling down Justin’s trembling hand. The fingernail itself clattered to the floor, discarded like trash.
Justin’s body arched in the chair, sweat pouring down his face. His breaths came fast, shallow and broken.
But Lorenzo was not done.
He adjusted his grip on the pliers, sliding them to Justin’s middle finger. Again, the sharp metal bit beneath the nail. Again, he pulled.
Another scream, weaker than the first, tore from Justin’s throat. This one cracked midway, the sound of a man being hollowed out from the inside. Blood spilled again, dripping down his knuckles and staining the wooden armrest dark.
Jace turned his head, unable to watch, yet unable to block out the sounds. He dug his nails into his arms so hard that they left crescents in his skin.
Lorenzo was breathing steadily, like this was nothing more than a routine then he moved to the next finger.
The pliers clamped down.
Justin flinched, his entire body shaking violently. His lips trembled, but still no words came out. He gritted his teeth until his jaw quivered, until the tendons in his neck strained, and then another wet, strangled scream as the nail tore free.
By now, Justin’s head sagged forward. His body slumped against the chair, trembling uncontrollably. His breaths were faint and uneven. His screams had grown weaker and dulled by exhaustion and blood loss.
Jace could barely breathe himself. The sight of the nails lying in small, bloodied crescents on the ground made his stomach lurch. He wanted to scream and to tell Lorenzo to stop but another part of him whispered that justin deserved every second of this.
When Lorenzo shifted to Justin’s other hand, lifting it to the armrest, Jace’s heart hammered in dread. He could see it Justin’s raw, bloodied fingers trembling, the pliers gleaming in Lorenzo’s steady hand.
Lorenzo clipped the tool in place, ready to rip again
“Stop!”
Justin’s voice was ragged, little more than a broken gasp. His head lifted, eyes bloodshot and glassy, his face drenched in sweat. For the first time since the torture began, his voice cracked with desperation.
“I...I will tell you,” he croaked, chest heaving. “I will tell you everything… everything you want to know about Victor Crane.”
And the building fell silent, Justin’s surrender hanging heavy in the air.