Page 162 of Sinful Lord

“No, shhh…” I quietly plead. The last thing I want is to draw any attention to myself. Whatever’s coming, it doesn’t need to get here any quicker.

All I can do is hold my breath as the sound of the shaking chair echoes through the cleared-out penthouse.

This is my new prison. It’s the most terrifying one yet.

I try to keep my eyes glued on my feet But that only makes my stomach churn even worse.

The dark, wood-panelled floors are covered in plastic sheets.

A wave of nausea threatens to knock me out. I force my chin up, desperately trying to fight back the urge to vomit.

The walls on either side of me are glass. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see the sparkling Berlin skyline. Snow falls softly from the black sky, covering every inch of the city in a soft white sheen.

It provides enough light to illuminate what’s around me.

Emptiness.

It looks like an entire living room has been cleared out. Everything except for a giant, floor-to-ceiling painting that fills up a multi-story wall.

Through the dim light reflecting off the snow, I can just barely make out the sharp white lines that fill up the black canvas. Somehow, they seem to form a familiar subject.

But that just makes everything even more confusing.

“ Where am I?” I croak, dehydration shriveling my swollen brain.

“You are in hell.”

The voice comes from a blackened doorway to the left of the painting. It’s filled with such jagged hate. An impossibly cold shiver skates up my spine.

“Who are you?” I choke, struggling against my restraints. “Why are you doing this?”

“One question at a time, princess,” the voice barks.

Then, a demon steps out of the darkness.

The man is… hardly a man. More like a walking corpse. Half of his face is shattered beyond repair, the skin black and scaly. His left eye nothing more than a dark socket. Yet his right eye is somehow worse. The pale white pupil glares out from a scarred pit, practically glowing beneath a mangled brow.

When he spots the fear in my face, his crooked jaw cracks and creaks into something like a smile. But his cheeks are indented, and his scarred lips look so painfully charred that the smile quickly turns into a sneer.

“Who… who are you?” I hear myself ask.

But I already know the answer.

“I’m the brother-in-law you almost had,” Krol hisses. When he takes another janky step forward, I get my first glance at his lower body. His shoulders look permanently displaced, as does his left leg. He walks like a stringless marionette.

“What does that mean?” I whisper, breathing though my nose.

Stopping himself in front of the painting, Krol carefully brushes aside a greasy strand of his thin black hair. When he turns to look out the window, I see that the left side of his head is completely bald. It looks like the skin is dead, or at least shaven where a huge scar flashes across his skull.

His hand is missing multiple fingers.

“It means that you are never seeing my dear brother again,” Krol says, staring at the snowy Berlin skyline. “And though, he may get to see parts of you, it won’t be enough to marry.”

That twisted snarl returns to his lips as he turns his attention back to me. It’s like he’s trying to smile, but can’t quite manage it.

“Why are you doing this?” I tearlessly sob, remembering all that Tytus told me about his long-lost brother. “Why would you betray your family like this?”

Without warning, Krol lunges forward. Suddenly, he’s right up in my face, his putrid breath crashing against my skin. I hold my breath and try to wince away. But there’s nowhere to go.