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Ironic, isn’t it?
A man can hurt you even when he’s not yours.
Octavius
Rock music blasts through the speakers, echoing through the space and mixing with the loud whimpers as the man struggles in the metallic chains wrapped around him, tears streaming down his face. “Please,” he whispers, licking his chapped lips and wincing, crying harder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” He tries to move to the side, his pants soaked from his urine, and the disgusting smell only adds to my annoyance.
Cowardliness inspires nothing but distaste in me, especially of those who deemed themselves invincible because no one could ever stop them.
How funny.
If there is one absolute law I’ve learned over the years…for every strength and power, there is the one that can best it. So you have to be careful and always think several steps ahead.
“It was just a hard week at work,” he continues, managing to get on his knees, scooting to the side, and cries out when his back connects with the wall, the sharp edges on the chain digging harsher into his bare skin and drawing blood. “I would have never done it otherwise.”
Rubbing my cheek with my gloved hand, I speak out, and he jerks. “Ah, so you were just stressed?”
He nods, the sweat flying in a different direction while he shifts again, dipping his knees in his urine, and more tears come.
Fucking hell, how embarrassing.
“Yes. We had a huge contract, and we failed. I was drunk and stressed. Otherwise, none of it would have happened.”
Swaying the metallic cane from side to side, I go to the nearby table and grab several photos, flipping through them and then throwing them on the floor where they land with a loud slap, spraying the urine on his face, and he winces again before gagging. “You beat your wife so hard, you broke her ribs. Your son tried to help her and ended up in the hospital with a concussion.” He looks at the photos, swallowing hard. “That happened three months ago. Is this what you do when you’re stressed, Tim? Beat the shit out of your family?” I tap with the cane on their family portrait. “Your wife loves you so much. She always makes excuses for your behavior and never reports it.”
“I’m sorry. It was a hard year. She understands.” He pushes against the wall when I step closer, still swaying the cane, a smile shaping my mouth at the sight of goose bumps breaking on his skin and how fear fills his gaze, his breathing speeding up.
While I love my victims hopeless on the operating table, watching me remove their organs one by one…there is a different kind of high only live torture can give.
Their terror is a pleasure in itself, putting them in the same position they do their victims for countless years.
“Does she?” I ask, stepping even closer until my leather boots press on his feet, and his agonized cry fills the air.
Ah, one of the best sounds indeed.
“Yes. She knows me well. I would never do it otherwise.”
“Ah, I see.” Tapping my cane on the floor, I draw a circle while his fingers curl on the chain. “You’re a lucky man to have such an understanding wife.” He exhales in relief, gulping for air, and his eyes widen when I raise the cane high. “I’m not that generous.” I hit him hard, the cracking sound reverberating through the walls as his scream overshadows even the music. “Consider me fucking stressed, Tim.” I deliver several more blows to his ribs and face, knocking out two teeth, and he coughs on his blood, spitting it on the floor while whimpering in pain from his broken bones.
“Please,” he whispers, unable to move his destroyed limbs and falling on his face, his shoulders trembling as he cries his heart out. I throw away the cane, walking back to the table and snatching a silver blade glistening under the harsh light in my torture room. “Please,” he repeats when I flip him on his back with a hard shove. “I won’t do it again. I was wrong.”
“No, Tim. You will. Because a man would have never done it in the first place.” He stills when I put the tip of the blade on his chin, slowly dragging it down his stomach and reaching his dick. He shakes his head, probably surviving on adrenaline alone, considering his wounds should be catastrophic to him and send a lot of pain through his system.
Not enough, never enough for me.
“I can change.”
“No. Men like you do not change. You tasted power the only way you can get it. Like an addict, you will chase the feeling over and over again, desiring to be the king of the world who issues orders that have to be followed or else you subject them to consequences. Even if the said world is your wife and son who have to bear your cruelty.” Wrapping my hand around the blade’s handle tighter, I pierce his dick with one swift move.
He arches his back, a silent scream escaping him, his mouth hanging open while his entire body freezes as blood pours from his wound, soaking everything around him. Twisting my wrist, I cut off his dick and let it fall between his thighs while his eyes glaze over, and he just stares into nothingness.
The blade joins the cane, and I grab the syringe I’ve prepared in advance and quickly insert it into his neck, letting the medication flow through him. It should keep the shock intact until he reaches the hospital. Otherwise, he might die with all his organs shutting down.
And where would be the fun in that?
Slipping off the gloves, I drop them in the trash can and wash my hands despite not getting any blood on them.
Wiping my hands with the towel, I take out my phone and press Antonio’s number. “Yes, sir?”
