Chapter 48 #2
He leans back in the rusted chair, stretching his legs out casually. “Nah, brother. Their screams are practically lullabies.” He rubs at his jaw. “And I didn’t sleep much last night.”
I snort.
Hound lets out a sharp bark of laughter from the corner. Shaking his head, he mutters. “Fucking psychopaths.”
Eventually, we’re done. There’s no skin left on their legs. Just raw, glistening muscle. Blood pooling beneath them. Dripping slowly and steadily.
Scar’s head lolls forward, breath coming in shuddering bursts. Hellfire’s not even trying to hold himself upright anymore—his body slack against the chains, eyes glassy with shock.
“Alright,” Healer says, peeling off his gloves with a quiet snap. “Another hour, Ruin. Then the paralytic wears off.”
A broken groan tears out of both of them. But neither of them dares to look down at the wreckage that’ll soon become their source of blinding pain.
“Perfect,” I murmur.
I push to my feet, slow and deliberate, pacing in front of them.
Ryder shifts in his chair, getting more comfortable.
“So, I’ve got this story, right?” I start casually, frowning like I’m genuinely bothered. “But there are… gaps.” I click my tongue. “Hate that shit.”
No response.
“Would you both help me out?”
Silence.
“Please?” I add, jutting out my lower lip in a mock pout.
Nothing.
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. I’ll start.”
I clasp my hands behind my back, pacing again. “So once upon a time—”
“You started without me?”
I freeze at Dad’s voice.
I glance over my shoulder, spotting him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, irritation written all over his face. “Uh… sorry?”
He rolls his eyes as he steps in, his whole body vibrating with rage—which, fair.
His gaze lands on Hellfire, and his lips curl into something almost friendly. “Oh hey, Tommy.”
Hellfire jerks against his chains, a guttural sound ripping out of him. “Paul—”
Dad grins wider. “Lookin’ a little rough there, buddy.”
“C’mon, Torch,” Hound calls out lazily. “We were just getting to the good part.”
I chuckle, nodding at Dad as he strolls closer, crouching down to inspect the work on their legs.
“Not bad,” he mutters, almost approving.
I clear my throat, slipping back into it. “So yeah. Once upon a time, James Wentley—Savage—built himself a club for his girl, Sandra—”
“—who was a gold-digging, patch-chasing slut,” Dad cuts in dryly.
I nod solemnly. “Right. Important detail. Thank you.”
Ryder snorts.
I continue pacing. “Years pass, club’s thriving. But Savage?” I shake my head. “He’s neglecting his Sandra. Tsk, tsk.”
I shake my head again, clutching my chest. “So Sandy starts fucking around on him. First with prospects. Then randoms from bars.” I gesture vaguely. “Until finally—Thomas, her childhood crush—gives her some attention.”
A broken, rasping chuckle comes from Hellfire. “She was f-fucking easy… your First Lady—”
“Wrong audience, fucker.” Dad shrugs easily. “No one here gives a shit about Sandy.”
Hellfire snarls, jerking uselessly against the chains.
I click my tongue, annoyed. “Don’t interrupt, Tommy. I’ll lose my flow.”
I take a breath, centering myself again. “Anyway,” I drawl. “Cliff notes… Sandy gets knocked up. Savage finds out—kicks her out. Story gets buried over the years, and no one knows she carried another man’s kid. Well, except for Savage—no one knew.”
I stop in front of Hellfire, crouching down slowly. “Not until she turned fourteen.” I tap my temple lightly, tilting my head as I study him. “Now here’s where I get stuck. When did you find out Charlotte was yours?”
Hellfire spits blood to the side. It dribbles down his chin, mixing with sweat and grime. His chest heaves, but he says nothing.
I sigh like he’s inconveniencing me. “No? You won’t tell?” I push to my feet again, pacing slowly in front of them. “Alright. Let’s fill in the blanks ourselves, yeah?”
My gaze flicks to Scar. He’s barely upright, head lolling, eyes glassy—but there’s still that ugly flicker of awareness in there.
“You sent Glory to our club eight years ago. We found records of her knowing about Charlotte being yours since… almost the beginning.” I crouch in front of Hellfire again, lowering my voice. “Did she not tell you?”
His lips twitch. A weak, broken sound leaves him. “That… b-bitch hid it.”
I hum, nodding slowly. “Otherwise you would’ve known for years.”
His silence confirms enough.
“Right,” I murmur. “So, years pass. Savage makes promises he shouldn’t have.” I jerk my chin toward Scar. “Like this one being the prez. At least until… Wolf takes over.”
Saying his name feels like dragging glass through my throat, but I don’t let it show. I don’t let anything show except the smile.
“So when that didn’t happen…” I tilt my head, studying Scar now. “You started stirring shit, didn’t you?”
Scar lets out a broken chuckle that dissolves into a cough. Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth. “Took you… long enough…” he rasps.
“Yeah?” I grin wider. “Walk me through it.”
His eyes drag to Ryder—lazy, deliberate. Then to Healer. “Well, f-for one, I m-made sure… your golden boys… stopped t-trusting each other. It was easy as fuck.”
Ryder stiffens behind me. I don’t turn, but I feel the shift in the room. The way his boots scrape as he stands.
“What did you do?” Ryder demands, voice low and lethal.
Healer frowns, looking between them.
Scar’s grin stretches, grotesque. “Guess… you should a-ask Isabelle… huh?”
Ryder goes completely still.
I glance back just in time to see the exact second it clicks.
“She didn’t—” he starts, voice sharp.
“No,” Scar cuts in, voice a wet rasp. “She didn’t.” His eyes gleam with sick satisfaction. “Bel’s only ever b-been with one brother…” He coughs, shuddering. “And that’s you, Ryder.”
Silence.
Then Scar breaks it as he starts laughing—if you can call that broken wheeze laughter.
I scrub a hand over my mouth, exhaling slowly. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Years of quiet fractures, planted like landmines. And this is probably just one of them.
It’ll be a while before we find the ones buried deeper over the last decade. My heart sinks at the thought of doing all this without Wolf. Fuck.
Ryder doesn’t say another word. He just turns and storms out, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the basement walls.
Healer stands there for a beat longer, jaw tight, eyes dark. Then he looks back at Scar. But gives nothing away.
I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck. “Alright,” I mutter. “Back to business.”
Time drags after that.
Questions. Silence. More questions.
They give us scraps. Nothing useful. Nothing that matters.
But that was never the point. Information wasn’t on the agenda—pain was. A slow, excruciating dismantling.
It starts slowly.
A twitch.
Then another.
Scar’s leg jerks violently against the concrete.
Hellfire sucks in a sharp breath—his first real sound in minutes.
Then they start to feel it. The paralytic wearing off.
I smile. “Ahh,” I crouch again. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Their breathing turns frantic. Uneven. I know that they can feel it. The exposed muscle. The raw nerves are waking up.
I say softly, almost kindly, “the best part.”
Their teeth start grinding. Bodies shaking.
I can see their pain slowly building. Spreading like fire through their veins. Consuming them to the point of insanity.
Their legs start trembling uncontrollably now. Muscles spasming as sensation floods back in—too fast, too much.
Scar’s head drops forward as a guttural sound rips out of him.
Hellfire follows a second later.
Low at first—then louder.
Then the snap of their control is almost a glorious thing. The screams are like a melody I’ve been waiting for.
I exhale slowly, savoring it.
Rising to my feet, I nod toward Hound.
He simply smirks and grabs the tool I’m looking for, following my lead.
Clang.
Hellfire’s chains snap. His arms drop down with a sound that drowns under their screams.
Then I take the bolt cutters and snap off Scar’s chains, too.
A few seconds after their arms are free, the screams change.
Sharpen.
Breaking into something raw. And blood curdling.
Because now they can feel it. All of it.
Their ruined limbs. Their nerves screaming alive.
I remember the burn. The pins and needles. The agony of blood rushing back into the arms that had gone dead.
That was only hours of being chained.
They’ve had a week.
I watch them thrash. Watch them choke on their own voices. I feel nothing except the hollow, transient satisfaction.
I turn away first, unwilling to dwell on it. Hound follows. Healer right behind him. Dad lingers just a second longer, staring down at Hellfire with something unreadable—then he turns too.
We leave them like that—screaming. Thrashing wildly. Burning alive in their own bodies.
But it still doesn’t feel like the vengeance I thought it’d be.