Chapter Thirteen #2
“Would it have made a difference?” I stood in front of him, assessing the damage.
The mutilation. I couldn’t take credit for all of it, it was mostly my brother’s handiwork—flayed skin, fingers snapped at the joints, nails through both of his nipples.
That last one was new. He reeked of piss and blood.
And fear.
He wore a blindfold, but he’d perceive my looming, my shadow blocking the light. Eliminating one or two of the senses made prisoners more susceptible to spilling their secrets. It added to the intimidation of the unknown.
People cooperated faster when they were terrified.
“P-please . . .” He tried to thrash, but the ropes looped around him from chest to feet restrained him tightly to the chair. “I told you every—”
“Yes, you’ve said that.” I ran the blade of the scalpel over the length of his finger—not enough to cut, but enough for him to feel it. To torment him with what was coming. He panted through the anticipation. “Trouble is, I can’t trust you.”
In one swift move, I dug the blade under his fingernail and yanked it away from the bed.
He cried out, guttural and bloodcurdling.
He convulsed, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his body desperate to curb the pain.
As soon as he was used to the feeling, his shouts dying down to pathetic mewls, I took another one.
“Y-you fucking bastard,” he wailed once the worst had subsided, snivelling and hiccupping. I was impressed he had enough spirit left in him to insult me. I’d thought we’d severed that weeks ago. “Hope your t-tramp omega is n-next.”
I stilled, a hot sensation surging in my chest, my pulse racing. “Say that again . . .”
He spat at me, the glob of crimson saliva seeping into my white shirt. “Fuck you, and your filthy runt, and your—”
I didn’t let him finish. The scalpel clattered to the floor, and my fist connected with his face.
Over and over. There was a crack, a sickening squelch, but I didn’t stop, my blood boiling, my breath whipping from my lungs in furious growls.
My senses had narrowed down to my fervent desire to see him dead, to hear him choke on his blood for daring to use his traitorous fucking tongue to insult my daughter.
And my omega.
“Caine!” A voice bellowed from behind me, the basement walls created to heighten every single sound.
I ignored it.
A strong arm hooked around my stomach, tearing me away from the rat. “I think he’s had enough,” my brother stated, and the unwelcome touch snapped me out of my trance.
I yanked myself out of Aaron’s hold, swiping the back of my hand across my forehead. My chest heaved as my awareness filtered back to me, the fog dissipating. I faced my brother, fixing him with a glare. “When did you become soft?”
He snorted, puffing out his chest. “I’m an uncle now. Gotta set a better example.” He stepped forward, checking Matthew’s pulse. “Shit, he’s still alive. I’ll get the doc over and he can patch him up. Can’t have him dying on us too soon.”
His face was in a state. Broken. Bloodied. Bared. Satisfaction settled in my gut.
“He called Dylan a tramp,” I mused. Out loud.
Aaron glanced up from his phone, presumably sending a text to Sebastian. “Ah, fair play. Gotta defend your man.”
I shot him a flat look. “He was adamant about his ignorance of my mating,” I said, deliberately. “How would he know of Dylan’s circumstances if that were the case?”
He shrugged. “Slip of the tongue? Pardon the irony.”
“Hm.”
“You think he knows more than he’s letting on?”
Or he’d acquired that detail recently.
“I don’t believe he knows anything of use,” I said, wiping my hand on the rag on the table, flexing my fingers. “But we can’t release him.”
Aaron swept his arm out. “Then by all means kill him and be done with it.”
“He said collecting Minseo from the warehouse was his initiation, but I’m not confident that’s the truth. If he’d already passed his initiation, and this was an ordinary charge, then he’s protected by the treaty.”
My brother clicked his teeth, impressed. “This is why you’re the big boss. All that rule shit gives me hives.”
“And you’re a beta.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that,” he deadpanned. “We could use him as bait? Whoever approached him might come back and try again.”
It was risky. I wasn’t attracted to the idea of sending him back onto the field, not now he’d made his contempt of me clear. But I needed more information, just a crumb to grant us enough ammunition to wipe out the Veenstras.
I had the resources to do it—it was the reason why they’d never vied for our position before, they’d fail and lose everything—but it would be simpler to ensure the other elites didn’t get involved.
Rush to Johan’s aid since I’d moved on his pack without evidence.
A civil war wasn’t ideal. I’d have to weed them out, discover their weak spots, and nip it in the bud before it escalated.
I had the upper hand. Their launch was quashed, my daughter was safe, but I’d left the sharks in the warehouse as a message, a warning.
If they were serious about deposing me, my actions would be enough to show they had my attention, and they would be eager to test it.
But until either side spilled the blood of a pack member, it was a waiting game.
They would likely continue to taunt me into making the first real move.
“We’ll figure it out,” Aaron offered in my silence, accustomed to me planning in my own head. “I can clean up here. You go upstairs and fuck something instead. Get all your Alpha aggression out that way.”
I snorted. Fucking something was what led to this.
“Don’t let him die,” I instructed, halting him mid-survey of a set of pliers. “That’d be a pain in the arse.”
He hummed, dropping the instrument. “Next time, count to ten when they start gobbing off. Works a treat.”
I left, letting the industrial door slam behind me.
The walk back to the mansion was a . . .
distance. The “basement” was a bunker underground, half a mile away, with a tunnel connecting it to the basement directly under the house.
It had been built by my grandmother. She hadn’t been keen on conducting interrogations within the actual building, even downstairs—didn’t want to taint the foundations with the woes of the unworthy.
Though she wasn’t sold on the idea of using the centre where we trained our recruits and held pack meetings either.
This was the compromise, keeping it separate yet still accessible.
And naturally soundproof.
My knuckles ached, though my body wasn’t quite so tense owing to the fulfilling rut.
My mood was stable now, despite the fact I was no further forward with the scheme.
Except, I’d admit I might have overdone it on the punches, even if it had felt like justice at the time.
He hadn’t deserved my unbridled wrath, not in comparison to his betrayal or his willingness to associate himself with my daughter’s abduction in return for drugs.
He had served his punishment for those crimes, and this had been a momentary lapse in judgement I could only blame on my instincts—raw from the last two days.
As I ascended the stairs, I noted it was dark outside.
Perhaps it had been for a while. There were no windows in the basement, no clocks either.
A deliberate design. The halls were barren of sound or motion, as they usually were.
No one else around except my sentinels. Statues.
I massaged my fingers—fortunately, I’d used my left hand—impartial to my surroundings until I smelled it. Fresh. Spring and lemon.
Dylan.
I glanced up to find him loitering at the end of the hallway. He had a glass of water in his hand, and his eyes were heavy as if he’d recently roused from sleep. I hadn’t taken much notice before, but he’d put on weight since he first arrived here, and it made a baser part of me preen.
Standing there, dressed in his new clothes I’d provided for him, he looked healthier, softer. Less on edge. As if he’d settled in and felt more at ease.
As it should be.
I clenched my jaw.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, a note of genuine interest in his drowsy voice. His eyes were fixed on the blood covering my skin and shirt. I didn’t take my gaze off him.
“It’s not mine.”
“Oh.”
I tilted my head, studious. “Were you worried?”
“No,” he protested quickly, but with less conviction than he would’ve had before. His throat bobbed on a swallow, his gaze still raking over my arms and chest.
I scented the air, the crisp florals blending with a musk I’d become familiar with. The scent I’d spent almost twenty-four hours bathed in. He was aroused. The perplexing little creature was drawn to danger.
It was no wonder we were so sexually compatible.
I let a smirk spread over my lips. “Goodnight, then.”
He blinked, his dark, reflective eyes snapping to my face. His brows creased into his signature glare before he retreated back to his room, leaving the hallway smelling of a verdant meadow and desperation.
I didn’t follow, though it took everything in me not to.