Page 111 of Lilies from Hell

“Y-yes, understood,” Grace mutters, holding the doorknob as if her life depends on it.

“Are you going out today? Unlike you, I have things to do,” Sergei spits rudely behind her.

The silence is soon broken by Polina and her utter failure to go unnoticed.

“It’s not nice to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations,” I murmur disdainfully, causing Polina to make her presence known by closing the door behind her. “What do you want?”

“Do you really think you can just leave all this behind as if nothing happened? She tried to kill one of our own! Can’t you see that?” she retorts, spitting the words into the air with anger.

“And what do you suggest? Kill her and start a senseless war?”

“Don’t play dumb. Anyone would realize that if you didn’t do it, it was because of her.”

“So what?” I ask with a smile wide enough to show my teeth.

“Haven’t you considered that all this might have been planned by that harpy?” My lips turn into a thin line as I get up from the chair, resting my hands on the table.

“Be careful with what you say. I wouldn’t want to have to rip your tongue out,” I hiss.

“Open your eyes! That bitch…” I slam my hand against her cheek with enough force to make her turn her face. A small trickle of blood runs from her lips to her chin.

Then I push her face against the desk, pinning her with my hand and not caring if I leave more marks on her face.

“Wipe your filthy mouth before you talk about her, because next time you’ll be leaving this house with your body stuffed into bags,” I whisper in her ear in an icy voice.

I turn on my heel and walk away, ignoring her sobs as she drags her body to the floor.

I lose track of how long I’ve been walking, I don’t even know where I’m going when I decide to go down some stairs. At first, I think it will lead me to a basement. Or even the garage. But what I find is a long hallway with many metal doors with only a barred window. Everything is dark and dimly lit by torches hanging from the walls. The atmosphere is gloomy and dreary, but far from wanting to leave, I want to know what’s behind the door in front of me. This one, unlike the others, is painted crimson red.

I’m lucky not to have encountered anyone at the entrance who would have blocked my way, and I assume that luck won’t last long. However, when I turn around, I feel a wave of relief when I see him instead of one of his men.

“You shouldn’t be here, love.”

“Why not?” I ask, furrowing my brow when I see him in front of me.

“It’s not good for you. It’s still too soon…” He stops talking, preferring to lose himself in his thoughts.

“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow even deeper.

His lips curve into a smile that makes me swallow the lump in my throat as he shakes his head. His fingers begin to trace my cheek until they reach my neck. He stops looking at that spot until my voice makes him look back at my face.

“I want to know what’s behind that door.” My words sound firm. Probably because of how much I want to walk through it and see what’s there.

He lets out a sigh of total resignation and goes to that door, typing something on the security screen next to it while I wait beside him. When he opens the door, all I can sense is darkness. A strong stench of iron and something rotting hits my nostrils, then the lights turn on, revealing one of the most grotesque scenes I’ve ever seen.

A man hangs from the ceiling with hooks driven into his back. I recognize him immediately. My eyes move from his bruised face to the open wounds that leave a pool of blood on the floor. A scorpion chain similar to the one I found in my bedroom hangs from his mouth, leaving the scorpion dangling in the air.

“What have you done to him?” I whisper, staring at his stomach as my own churns with the urge to know more.

That little voice in my head keeps asking questions when I see a cut so deep that it exposes part of his intestines. Some of them are about to fall out. The flesh on his arms is held in place by small fibers of muscle attached to the now very visible bone.The flesh on his arms clings to the bone by mere shreds of muscle, looking ready to slough off at any moment and fall to the ground.

His penis lies on the floor beneath him, leaving a mess of blood, skin, and shattered nerves next to one of his fingers. His lower limbs are not much better. The left leg has been brutally torn off, leaving only bone and a few pieces of skin hanging in the air. I have to cover my mouth and look away from his unrecognizable chest when I feel a strong gag reflex, but even so, my eyes refuse to look away from the image.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” I don’t turn around, preferring to stare at the rest of the body while ignoring the tingling sensation in my body. “He’s still alive,” he declares, brushing his lips against the back of my neck as he wraps his arms around me. “What do you want us to do with him?”

“I don’t know…”

“I could finish him off for you if you don’t want to touch him,” he offers in a soft voice that contrasts with the sinister nature of the situation and what his eyes convey.