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“It’s only one hundred and ninety in there,” I tell him. “Basically, a very hot sauna. The point is, he thinks it’s hotter than that. He’ll cave. If he doesn’t, I’ll do this one for free.”
Angelo snorts. “You do them for free regardless.”
“It breaks up the monotony of my day.”
“So you say.” He studies me. “But it doesn’t seem to hold the same shine as it once used to.”
He’s right, but I’m not about to admit that out loud. Something has been different. Off. When I started this work, it felt like a way to right some universal wrongs. The scales of justice aren’t always favorable. Some people, such as myself, prefer more biblical measures. An eye for an eye. Every man I’ve tortured over the years has been different, but in the most important sense, they were all the same. They were all my father.
In my mind, I’ve killed him a thousand times over. It has been the only way I could avenge the deaths of my mother, sister, and brother. I was only a boy when the Tribunal sentenced him to death, and they looked upon me with pity as they denied my request to kill him myself. In the end, he and his mistress were hanged, as was the man who carried out her orders. There was nobody left for me to destroy, so I learned to channel my rage into something productive. For many years, I found satisfaction in that. Now, the dopamine rush is gone, and in its place is a stagnant feeling I can’t quite identify. Like something needs to change, but I don’t know what.
“You could do something else,” Angelo says. “It’s never too late. There are many respectable jobs within The Society.”
“Yes, there are,” I concede. I just don’t know that I’m comfortable leaving the familiar behind.
The asshole in the oven starts slamming his body against the glass, interrupting us. “Okay, I’ll talk. I’ll fucking talk. Let me out. Let me the fuck out!”
Angelo glances at me and shakes his head in quiet amusement. “You win, Alessio.”
This time, he accompanies me, helping me open the oven to retrieve the tomato-faced prick who thought he could withstand anything.
“Water?” he croaks. “Please—”
I dump the glass of water in my hand over his head. “Talk.”
He glances at Angelo, then back to me. “I know who did it,” he says. “I know who set it up, and I know why. I’ll tell you everything if you give me your word he’ll never find out who told you.”
“You have it,” Angelo snarls at him. “Now tell me.”
17
Alessio
I’m a gruesome sight to behold when I get back to the house. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I left today and forgot my bag with extra clothes, a side effect of the lack of sleep I’ve had.
I make it to the second level without encountering anyone, but my luck runs out there. Natalia is walking down the hallway when she seems to sense me. She turns around, freezing when she notices my shirt. In a normal world, I’d expect her to faint. Or scream. Perhaps even try to call the police, as I suspected she might’ve the first time she saw me bloodied. Her eyes are absent of the fear one would expect when she looks at me this way. There is only concern in her expression and perhaps curiosity. I want to know why she is the way she is. It’s unsettling to encounter someone so calm in the face of something so out of the ordinary.
I’m not a fool. Whatever lies she tried to spoon-feed me were a feeble attempt to keep me from a deeper exploration of the real cause of her scars. Scars that were obviously inflicted by a knife. The defensive wounds over her hands and arms most likely saved her life, limiting the number of blows I found on her torso. It’s what’s under her neck scarf that has me most curious. I want to know who. I want to know why. Then I want to torture them until their blood runs dry.
She turns hesitantly, like she’s trying to decide if I need her help, but I can’t let her near me. If she gets close, I’m going to fuck her again. I’m going to fuck her until my body gives out. Already, I’m having withdrawals, and one second in her presence is too much.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to drag my gaze away from hers and walk up to my room without a glance back. I am equally relieved and annoyed that she doesn’t follow.
I take a scalding hot shower, scrubbing my skin violently. I consider jacking myself off until my dick is raw, but it no longer appeals to me now that I know the warmth of a woman. I want her, and to my horror, I’m quite certain she’s the only one who will do.
