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“Yes, patron.”
As one, the two guards left.
My breath caught as a loud noise and squeaky wheels sounded. It echoed in the chambers of the caves, loud with earthen acoustics.
I wanted to ask what would happen but...what was the fucking point?
I’d pushed him to do this.
I’d thrown his choices in his face.
My heart clawed into my throat as a heavy wooden chair with sturdy platforms for arms and feet was tipped backward and wheeled into the cave. The guards didn’t stop until they cut beneath the arch and placed the medieval-looking chair above the drain in the floor of the other catacomb. Leather straps dangled off the armrests, back, and legs. Buckles glinted in the electrical sconces.
Once the chair was positioned, one of the guards pulled out a key and unlocked the lattice-doored cabinet.
The doors swung wide.
I tripped backward.
My missing calf muscle sliced with agony as I landed heavily on the fur-lined bed.
Fuck.
FUCK.
Cem shifted toward me, placing his hand on my shoulder.
I was too fucking terrified to shake him off.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the huge machine with dials, switches, and a giant voltage wheel with a colour swatch above fading from green to red.
“Like I said, Aslan, my methods are tried and true. I will never push you beyond your tolerances. I will never actively try to deliver more pain than you can handle, but...you will feel pain. It will be delivered via electrodes on your body—sometimes your temples, sometimes your genitals, sometimes the soles of your feet. Other times, the electrodes won’t be used at all.”
He snapped his fingers, and a guard came running with a long wand with two metal spikes. Fisting it, Cem waved it around as if he could conjure magic. “This is called a picana. It’s used when I wish to target a localised area and deliver... intense responses.”
Sweat beaded down my spine.
My heart chugged and choked.
No wonder the doctor had fought for me.
No wonder he tried to bargain for more time.
Even the healthiest of people wouldn’t survive this.
No one could survive electrocution.
The other guard came to join the one standing beside Cem after delivering the nasty torture wand.
With barely a nod, Cem stepped back and muttered, “Strap him into the chair.”
A rush of violence shot down my limbs.
I soared upright.
I swung.
I managed to land three punches before my body forsook me, my vision betrayed me, and the last thing I remembered was the guards dragging me between them and the nasty bite of leather as I was fastened in.
