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“Why are you telling me this? And what...who is that?”
Ignoring my question, Mateo placed a hand on the small of my back and began guiding me towards the dreaded hall.
“Because I want to make sure you’re fully aware of what the man you’re marrying does for a living, and what he’s capable of.”
Another loud scream carried through the air as if to prove his point.
As we slowly began to pass right by the room it was coming from. I told myself not to look. I didn’t want to see because whatever was making a man scream in such a way couldn’t be anything good.
Of course, telling myself not to do something was a guaranteed way to compel myself into doing it, triggering me to turn my head and stare straight inside.
A man hung completely naked. His arms were suspended above him, pulled from their sockets and oddly angled. His feet, one of them broken with the bone coming through his big toe, were barely balanced on an unsteady stool sat beneath him.
Another man dressed in plastic stood in front of him, holding what looked like an ice-pick. The suspended man’s body had so many tiny holes in it, he resembled a honeycomb. His genitals were mutilated. Where his cock should have been was an ugly cauterized stump.
Blood was everywhere, coating, the floor, and every visible inch of his flesh.
His delirious eyes met mine a second before rolling back in his head as green vomit expelled from his gaping mouth. I looked away just as the man in plastic delivered a harsh jab to the guy’s ribs, knocking the stool over in the process.
A loud, sickening crack followed.
I repeatedly swallowed down my own bile. Placing a hand on my stomach, I swiftly moved away, leaving the horrid scene behind me.
“He caught him fucking his wife,” Mateo explained, not phased in the slightest.
“So he deserves to be tortured?”
He side eyed me as we reached another door that was shut, placing one hand on the knob, and turned to face me before opening it.
“If you ever let another man touch you, I’d skin him alive and then deliver a new piece of his body to you every day until there was nothing left.”
With a smirk and a cheeky wink, he opened the door.
My eyes widened as I took in the grossly scruffy man face down on what looked like a metal veterinary table. His dirty blonde hair had remnants of dried blood in it, and his bruised legs were spread wide. The skin on his face was so pink, he resembled a raw piece of shrimp.
“This is Alex,” Mateo gestured.
Sergio stood at the head of table, holding a bottle of baby oil. Diablo, Mateo’s main hit-man, stood beside him holding what looked like a pair of rubber salad tongs.
I watched on in sick, fascinated horror as he used them to lift a tied off condom from a container.
Sergio squirted baby oil on both the ends of the tongs and then the plastic bubble before Diablo inserted it into a struggling Alex’s rectum, leaving the tail end to stick hang out.
“He’s probably enjoying this.” Elias’ voice came from the other side of the room.
My eyes shifted to a pair that were strikingly similar to Mateo’s.
“Nice to see you again, sweetheart,” he said warmly, aiming a bright smile my way.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, my gaze darting between the two brothers.
“A test,” Mateo replied.
“Think of it as a draft,” Elias added.
“Explain.”
“You say you want to play. You agreed to my offer. Now I want to see if you can follow through.”
