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He bursts into laughter, interrupting the declaration before it can leave my lips. “You love her? Love?” the laughter rings throughout the car, and I feel the anger simmering beneath my skin like hot flames. My cells are vibrating, and I just wish I were man enough to fight back for once.
“Listen here, you say you love that girl? Well love is weakness son, and she is yours. You’ll do this if you want her to keep fucking breathing.”
“What?” I snap my head up, my eyes meeting his cold, dead stare.
“You heard me. You do this, she stays alive. You want to run away? I’ll find you both. And I’ll fucking gut her and dismember the pieces while you watch.”
All the color drains from my face, and my stomach contorts into so many goddamn knots that it’s physically painful. Would he really? He’d kill her? Who am I kidding, of course he would, just to spite me. Just to control me. Just to keep his goddamn legacy intact. So I swallow the lump in my throat, and open the passenger side door, stepping out into the cold night.
High pitched shrieks echo off the walls, and they are so fucking loud that it hurts. Screams of pain, pure agony. Shrill noises that I’ve never heard a grown man make. The sharp, strong scent of urine penetrates my senses and I turn my head away. My father has been letting me in on little pieces of this world for months now, but this is the first time I’ve been in his torture chamber.
My torture chamber.
I shudder at the thought.
“Tell me what I need to know. Who is feeding information to the Reapers?” my father growls. He sounds inhuman. Demonic. His eyes shimmer as he relishes in the agony he’s inflicting on the man in front of him.
Sitting in a corner quietly, I watch. Just as I was told to do. I don’t make a sound, don’t move a muscle. I always knew my father was a fucked up human being who led a life of crime. I knew he killed people in the name of the Brotherhood. This though? I had no fucking idea.
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
“Who?!” my father’s face turns red, the veins in his neck bulging as he screams. Throwing his fists, he smashes into the man’s face several times, leaving blood pouring down his face.
“I-I d-don’t, I don’t know!” the man cries, shaking against the chains that keep his shirtless, shoeless body restrained to the large metal column in the center of the room.
“Tsk. Tsk," dad shakes his head and walks in slow circles around the man. A predator circling his prey.
Stalking slowly back to the long, metal table that sits against the concrete wall, he rubs his chin with one hand; his eyes flitting back and forth between the various torture devices laid out in front of him. Knives of all sizes. Serrated edges. Needle point tips. Curved tips. Large. Small. An axe. A machete. And those are just the blades at his disposal. There’s a blowtorch, a stun gun, stun baton, and some other devices I’ve never seen before.
Running his fingertips gingerly across the metal surface of each weapon, he sucks in air as he pauses, hovering over the stun baton. Wrapping his fingers around the weapon, he lifts it, spinning it in one hand. Turning on his heel, he begins walking toward the chained up man, but pauses halfway, turning his head to meet my gaze.
“Travis, come,” he commands.
Gulping, I stand, trying to hide the fact that I’m shaking in my sneakers. Slowly inching closer to my father, I stop at his side and he grabs my hand in his, placing the stun baton in my palm, curling my fingers around the grip.
My throat is tight and dry, and every time I swallow it feels like I’m choking on sandpaper. My brain races, and I feel sick because I know why he’s putting this in my hands. I know what he wants me to do, but I don’t have it in me. I’m not him.
“Do it,” he growls.
“I-I…” my words falter and sweat pours down my face. “I don’t…”
“What’s her name again? Sam? Steph - ahhh, no, I remember. Spencer,” he raises an eyebrow at me, and his eyes say everything. Daring me to betray his demands. Daring me to test the waters and see if he will follow through on his threats.
I pinch my eyes closed and her beautiful, sparkling emerald eyes drift to the forefront of my brain. I can’t do this. I can’t. But for her, I will.
Taking a deep breath, I step forward.
“Again, tell me who is funneling information to the Reapers,” my dad commands in a low growl.
The man chained to the column says nothing, he hangs his head in defeat, accepting that what comes next will be nothing short of excruciating pain. Pressing the discharge button, I prod him in the stomach and his shrieks reverberate off the walls, filling the abandoned basement.
He doesn’t open his mouth, so I do it again.
Again.
Again.
His body convulses and his eyes roll back as he urinates himself for the second time tonight. Dropping my hand to my side, I look over my shoulder at my dad, who is leaned back against his table of torture toys, arms crossed over his chest, watching with glee in his eyes.
