Chapter 8 Cain
Even though the struggle was impossible, I managed to behave throughout the night and stay in my room like a fucking good boy.
I didn’t sleep, not even for a minute, knowing that only a few walls are separating me from her.
I couldn’t stay still. I smoked a lot, took three cold showers, and nearly broke the mirror in the bathroom.
Today, work was unbearable. Slow, almost painful. The struggle not to kill my employees for asking pathetic questions or being useless for the hundredth time was real. They are stupid pieces of shit.
A few times, I sneaked a glance at the camera in her room to check on her. Those moments were the only highlights of my extremely boring day.
She seemed bored as well. She tried on a few clothes and, of course, she kept on some plain jeans and a loose pink sweater.
Her ignorance and innocence only make it all more entertaining for me.
She had no idea I’d been watching her every move, stalking her every minute of the day.
And damn, the way her body moves, so effortlessly alluring, drives me crazy.
I drag my final pull from my cigarette, fling it on the ground, and enter my basement. What comes after a long and tedious time at work? A good kill.
Everything looks at its place, plastic sheets covering the entire place, ready for the upcoming massacre.
Great job, boys.
Landon strikes a punch on the disgusting shit-face.
“Boss?” he pants, clearly tired from the beating. He walks away, quietly joining the rest of my men, who watch in silence.
His head hangs low, bruised and covered in blood. The room now reeks of blood and urine. Expected, I suppose, after two days chained to this chair. But now, I finally have the time and the mood to deal with him.
I prowl closer and lean down until we’re at the same height. Slowly, he raises his eyes and looks at me.
“Rise and shine, gorgeous!” I smile sinisterly.
His eyes flutter between mine, trying to recall where he knows me from. “You?”
I nod. “Me, me, me …” I grab his shoulder firmly. “And I’m having a nasty day, buddy.”
“Listen, I didn’t touch the girl!” His voice comes out shaky and terrified.
“Weird, because she said you did.”
“That fucking whore!” he spits. “She’s lying! I didn’t do anything to her!”
“M-hm.” I click my tongue. “Even if I believed you about that, you did something naughty just now.”
“What?!”
“Talking shit about her?” I inhale sharply through clenched teeth. “Not a wise move.”
“I … I didn’t—”
“I’m going to take my time with you, Elijah.
” I rise slowly and stride to the metallic medical table at the end of the room.
On it, all of my “toys” rest, waiting for me to give them purpose again.
He shakes harder than before. I take the chain cutter in my hand.
“I am going to make you suffer every second of the rest of your pathetic life.”
“No!” he wails, tears streaming down his bloodied cheeks. “Please, I’m telling the truth.”
“I’m sure you are,” I tease. My eyes fall on the iron claw hammer, and for a moment, I ponder. “Should I start by chopping or hitting?” I ask him.
“Please, Mr. Manson … I’ll do anything.” His breathing hitches.
I grab the table and roll it closer to him. “Anything?”
“Yes, anything.”
I ponder again. He thinks he’ll get away with it easily. Huh. Little does he know what I have in mind. “Unchain him.”
His face fills with hope again. It shines bright, and his lips smile widely, revealing his bloodied teeth.
“But, boss—”
“I said, unchain him, Gregory.”
So, he does. Landon smirks evilly, keeping his eyes low. Probably, he knows what’s coming. Or at least he can imagine.
Bruce, next to him, stands slack jawed like some freak drawn to the mess—such a disgusting piece of shit. I should’ve dumped him a long time ago. He adds nothing—just dead weight waiting to get someone killed. I guess I kept him around out of habit. Or boredom.
Landon’s different. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t blink. He ends problems fast and quietly, with animalistic brutality. That’s what I like—not whatever hollow cowardice Bruce keeps dragging around behind him. He’s a liability I haven’t dealt with. Yet.
Elijah stands hesitantly, pretending he’s having a hard time staying on his feet, and gives me a puppy-dog look.
He thinks he’s a good actor, but I’ve seen men who actually couldn’t stand.
I’ve seen them one step from death, and I’m damn sure he isn’t one of them.
Landon didn’t do a good enough job with him after all, but now, finally, the time to take over has come.
“I see the boys did a pretty good job with you, huh?” I ask politely. He nods, glaring at them. “My apologies for that. They’re a bit … primitive.”
“Thank you, Mr. Manson,” he breathes, taking slow steps closer to me. “I will always remember that.”
“Where are you going?” I push him back.
“I thought you would let me go.”
“I never said that,” I taunt, sliding off my black leather belt, my movements slow and steady. I loosen my black tie, my collar falling open. “You have a debt to pay,” I growl, stepping forward. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of making you do so.”
“I-I don’t understand.” He stares at me with wide eyes.
“You said you’d do anything.” I tilt my head, a slow smile spreading across my face. He stumbles backward in a panic, crashing into the chair and dropping into it hard. “So, you owe me.”
He gulps forcefully, his breathing quivering even more. I enjoy this more than I should.
I hand him my belt, and he furrows his brows in question. “You will need it.”
“Why?”
I chuckle and stare him down from head to toe. Without drifting my eyes away from his, I take the handsaw from the table right next to us. “Take it.” I offer it with a smile.
He’s sweating so much, it’s dripping down his neck, soaking into his shirt, his whole body shaking like a cornered animal. His eyes keep darting around, wild and unfocused, searching for a door that isn’t there.
He doesn’t understand the depths of my damaged mind. He doesn’t know there’s no escape for him or for anyone who tries to hurt her.
Shaking, he takes the saw in his hand. “What do you want me to do?”
I extend my arm and hand him my belt again. He takes it, his eyes never leaving mine.
I hold his gaze and smile broadly. “I want your hand.”
“What?”
The boys around me remain calm, almost soulless. Landon, on the other hand, can’t hide his glee.
“I’m a little impatient, so let’s get it over with.” I put my hands into my pants pockets.
His emotions are conflicted, and it shows on his face. He’s smiling, but not really. “You’re kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His breathing becomes erratic; he is panting, almost unable to control it. “Chop-chop!”
Landon chuckles louder, making him more desperate and confused.
“Do you think it’s funny?” Elijah asks him.
“Oh, I do!”
Elijah growls, trying to decide who to attack first. Damn, that’s my favorite show—seeing someone reach their breaking point.
The despair in their eyes.
The courage that finally takes over.
The buried darkness that we all hide within us, rising to the surface, feral and cannibalistic, like an animal instinct.
The primal need to survive.
He attempts to attack me with the saw, but in the blink of an eye, I shoot his thigh. He’s such a fool for believing he is smarter or faster than me. He groans with pain and kneels on the ground.
“You sick son of a bitch!”
“You could have played it smarter and spared yourself a few limps. But now, a leg is gone, too.”
“I will kill you all!”
I chuckle. With a swift move, I grab his shirt collar and press my gun underneath his jaw. He squeezes his eyes closed.
“We can pretend there’ll be a next time, watching you fail to kill me like the pathetic, spineless coward you are.
But right now, stop wasting my fucking time and chop off your useless fucking hand already!
” I snarl, spitting straight into his trembling, worthless face.
“Do it before I rip it off myself and shove it down your throat.”
“O-Okay!” He trembles.
I take one step away from him and watch his hatred simmering within him. Determinedly, he places the saw over his wrist and stares at it for a few seconds. Tears well up in his eyes as thoughts race through his mind. He exhales sharply.
He screams, ready to chop.
“Wait!” I cut him off. He exhales in relief. “Which one did you touch her with?”
“With this one!”
I push him back on the chair and press the muzzle violently against the bullet wound in his thigh. He screams in pain. “Don’t lie to me, Elijah.”
“I’m sorry …”
“Answer me!” I seethe.
“With both hands …” He whimpers in despair.
Now, he knows what he has to do.
“Good boy.” I remove the gun from his wound, causing a deep breath to escape his hole. “Get to work now.”
His shivers intensify, and he cries uncontrollably. He’s probably trying to move me, and it’s not going to happen.
He places the saw on his left wrist once again, clenches my belt between his teeth, and stares down at it. He hisses, and with a final breath, he delivers a powerful stroke, slicing his wrist.
Ouch. That was brutal.
His screams fill the empty, dusty room. All of my men lower their eyes and scrunch their faces in disgust—all except Landon.
Exhausted and on the verge of fainting, Elijah pants, giving me a pleading look, waiting for me to spare him. “Please, I can’t do that,” he wails.
“On the contrary, Elijah.” I step closer to him and lean down, patting his shoulder. “You’re very strong. You’ve got this.”
“And then I can go?”
“Then you can go.”
He saws again. Viciously. Determinedly. Fiercely. Again and again, until his hand falls to the ground.
Breathless, sweaty, and in tears, he collapses on the floor and waits for me to praise him. And so, I do. I clap my hands and smile. “You have balls, man.”
“Thank you,” he pants, nearly out of breath. “Now, please, let me go.”
“I will, buddy. After you chop off your other hand, all well.”
“What?”
“A deal is a deal.”
“But … how am I supposed to do it with only one fucking hand left?” he spits angrily.
“Well …” I click my tongue. “I can help with that.”
Anger boils inside me. Swiftly, I grab the saw from his hand, seize his wrist, and pin it to the table, shoving all of my “toys” to the ground.
He screams, but that doesn’t deter me. I saw at him violently, chopping off his filthy limb in just five strokes.
Blood splashes all over me. Over my face, shirt, chest, and hair. And I’m not even done yet. I’m still not satisfied. I want him to be desperate, to curse the minute he was born. I need to see the plea for me to kill him in his eyes, because he’ll see death as redemption.
I get up, my breathing ragged.
“Please,” he cries. “I just want to go home.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option, sugar.”
“What? But you said …”
“I said I’d let you free if you chopped off your hands on your own. And that, my friend, didn’t happen.”
“You, manipulative, sick bastard!” he screams, turning all red. I chuckle, taking the machete in my hand that had fallen on the ground. “What are you going to do with this?”
“The Devil taught me a couple of tricks to make things more … amusing. Amusing for me.” I spiral the machete in the air, playing with it.
“The Devil?”
“You know him … the so-called cruelest killer on the continent. Honestly, I think he’s a fucking amateur. But let’s try his pathetic method—just for fun.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Small letters. It’s useless to you, anyway.” I smile sinisterly, raising the knife into the air. “Let’s see if his toys work well.”
I march toward him and press the blade to his throat, feeling his flesh twitch beneath the steel. I begin pushing, slicing, and savoring each quiver and desperate gasp.
“How does it feel, Elijah?” I sneer, pushing the blade deeper, forcing a choked scream from his lips. “Knowing my face is the last thing your pathetic eyes will ever see? Knowing you’re going to die like a miserable, spineless fuck?”
Blood splashes onto me once again. My wrath is untamed, savage, uncontrollable. This knife doesn’t give me the satisfaction that I need. It’s not enough to release the fury inside me.
I kick him on the ground and grab the axe.
And I chop …
Violently.
Frantically.
Maniacally.
I chop and chop until his fucking head detaches from his body, completely coating me in his blood.
As I try to catch my breath, I can’t help but smirk to myself. I finally feel better. Like justice has been served. Justice for her name. For her dignity.
“Wrap this shit up.” I kick his head to Landon’s feet.
I have a special place for these little trophies.
To me, it’s the ultimate disgrace: not being whole when entering the afterlife.
For their families, not having a complete body to bury and mourn means no one will ever see their worthless faces again.
A special place in my garden.
Right next to my big brother.
As I’m waiting for Landon to wrap his filthy head up, I light up a smoke and inhale a long drag. “Ready, boss.”
I exhale the smoke and grab the plastic bag with his head in. “Take care of the rest.” He nods.
The clock shows that it’s already past midnight, which means everyone will be locked in their rooms by the automated locking system.
As I head to the garden, I realize the smoke isn’t enough to wash away the taste of his blood lingering in my mouth. I need something more substantial.
And then I see the vase at the end of the corridor, holding a large bouquet of red roses. I’ve filled my entire place with them. I want her scent to linger everywhere.
I pluck a petal, drive it into my lips, and let her taste flood my mouth again, recalling the day when I first touched her.
Recalling the day when I saw her again, wandering the street, looking completely lost. How could she not be?
She had just arrived from the Czech Republic—just like I planned.
She was searching for a place to stay in this massive, chaotic concrete jungle I’d brought her to.
“Cain?” Kate?ina gasps, widening her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Is that … a head?”