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“Please,” the man cried.
I watched as Lucius continued to dig, sweat dripping from his body, soaking his shirt and hair. The hole was getting deeper and deeper.
“I did it for you!”
Lucius finished his work, hopped out of it, and back to the soiled, sobbing man.
“Wrong. Answer.”
Those two words flipped a switch. I could see the fire build inside him, and the second it consumed his soul. Walking over to the whimpering torturer, he grabbed him by the arm…and ripped it clean off his body.
The guy screamed, blood squirting from the wound. With a growl, Lucius smiled. “No, no. Not that easily, dear cousin.”
Cousin? This man was related to him?
Captivated, I continued to watch as Lucius seared his old-fashioned lighter to his skin. The wound was cauterized and stopped the bleeding. He took the loose arm, tossed it in the hole, and grabbed the other, twisting and grunting as it was pulled from his body.
This continued—severing and ripping off body parts. The man was alive while watching himself be torn apart. He wasn’t just a dark prince.
He was a beast.
The precision it took to keep this man alive to meter out his death was overly gruesome, extremely passionate, and entirely too real. He truly was my equal.
“Now,” he told the lump with no legs, arms, or tongue. “I’m going to bring her here, and I’m going to let her watch as the pathetic waste who was sworn to protect her but broke her instead be destroyed bit by bit.”
Having only one goal in mind and no time to play, I stalked the halls of the Strong Memorial Hospital. The stench of mothballs and bleach tickled my nose.
I came to my sister’s room. She had a fucking pretty boy cop blocking her door.
For fucking real. Go be a hero somewhere else.
I was on a time crunch. Markus could die from infection in his stink of a warehouse. I didn’t even have to go in to smell the rot.
The thought of my sister living in that…made my blood boil.
I didn’t want to make a scene by killing this pretty boy, and so I dipped into the supply closet, throwing on a pair of scrubs and a white coat. The blood on my hands and face surprisingly fit in well around here.
Walking up to the pretty boy cop, I plastered on a smile.
“Hi, how’s our patient doing?” I mimicked the annoying fake-ass tone of all the real doctors in this place.
The cop looked at me, suspicion evident in his eyes.
“Who are you?” he said, his tone grouchy, authoritative.
The dude sounded like a roid-rager. Eyeing him, he looked like one too. He had a good five inches on me. I wasn’t GQ tall. My dick took most of my height. I was a nice five feet, ten inches. Tall enough to headbutt large assholes like this in the nuts and short enough to give perfect tongue fucking while piloting my heli. Tall shit stains were overrated.
“The patient is the kidnapped woman, right?” I said, ignoring him and trying to look past his bulky ass to see through the window. I couldn’t, and the meathead blocked my view even more.
“Not sure, Doc,” he said. “You tell me.”
I glared at him. He in no way would take me down. I threw dicks like him over my shoulder daily.
“All right, creatine, calm your balls.”
He returned my glare. “Where’s your ID?”
It wasn’t a question.
