37 Beast
Jace
The door groans as it opens, the sound slicing clean through the silence. The sound of my boot hitting the floor as I step into the room.
Gideon grins as the door shuts behind me. I don’t say a word.
“There’s a delicate dance when it comes to interrogations,” his voice fills my ears from a memory. “You need to keep the lead, to remain in control. If they manage control, then it won’t go anywhere.”
Each step echoes as I circle him. Every step is measured and methodical.
Just like him. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, a small smile on his lips.
I’ll let him pretend. Savor these last few minutes of control.
My palms itch. Not just from violence. From memory.
I can still feel the sting of the cuffs, the copper tang of blood in my mouth, the smell.
I stop beside him. He touched what’s mine. He’s a threat to the woman I love. I want to snap his neck right here, but he has valuable information, so I rein in the beast.
“I should thank you,” I say finally. “For the training. It’s going to make this a lot easier.”
The door on the far side of the room opens, and a guild member pushes my cart. All the tools were picked and laid out specifically for him.
I walk over, running my hand over the tools. “You remember how this works.” My voice is calm, almost bored. “I ask the questions, you bleed out the answers.”
“Touching.” Gideon tilts his head. “You always were such a quick study.”
I push the cart closer, out of his reach, but within mine.
“You’ve always had such potential,” he continues, “But potential without discipline is just waste.”
I let my presence coil around him like a noose.
“Is that what you told yourself when you threw me into that cell the first time? When you held my head underwater until I nearly drowned?”
I step into view. “You made me into a weapon. Now, you’re going to see how effective I really am.”
For the first time, he really studies me. I know exactly what he’s seeing. Not the boy he’d shaped, but the man he failed to break.
“You think this makes you strong? This little performance? It’s just posturing. You’re still under my thumb, son. You just don’t know it.” He smiles.
“No.” I let the beast out to play. I can feel the change in my body. The violence it seeks. “This is who you made me into.”
I turn, picking up a curved knife, perfect for separating skin from muscle. He was going to talk. I’d make sure of it. I drag the blade across the back of his hand—a slow promise of what’s to come—he doesn’t flinch.
He built me to admire that.
“Let’s begin with something easy,” I say. “Why Daniel?
He chuckles. “Why not Daniel? He already took the Ashthorne heir and tamed her once. She knew her place. On her knees and under him.”
My fist snaps forward, cracking against his jaw. His head whips to the side as the restraints hold him in place. His smile remains, just bloodier.
“You’re predictable,” he says, eyes glittering. “All that rage, so tightly leashed. For her.”
I press the knife to the inside of his thigh, a place with very important arteries and very little room to be wrong.
Gideon chuckles.
“You have some nerve, boy.”
“She’s mine,” I snarl, “And you laid your hands on her.”
He laughs, a wild laugh. “That’s what this is about? Possession?”
The laugh ends when I twist his wrist. Tendons strain. Bones grind. Pain flashes in his eyes, but the bastard still smiles.
“There are so many ways to hurt one without ever breaking skin.” Gideon nods.
I lean in close, my voice low and dangerous. “You can give me what I want while you still have functioning use of all your limbs. Or we can explore every nerve ending you own.”
He spits blood at my boots. “Do your worst.”
I smile back, it’s a baring of teeth. “I intend to.” I take his little finger between my thumb and pointer finger.
“Where’s Daniel?” I ask like I’m asking about the weather.
He locks his jaw. His silence is expected. So, I break the first bone; he gives me nothing but a grunt.
“One down, nine more to go.” I shrug.
We continue this dance. I ask the same question as he endures every finger breaking. There’s a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead, but he doesn’t make much noise.
I take the blindfold in my hands.
“You taught me the body can endure anything, as long as the mind remains intact.” I slip the blindfold over his eyes. “Let’s see how that works.”
I pull it tight, making sure it’s snug, no gaps, no light.
I pick up a fillet knife, freshly sharpened. I drag the tip of the blade along his skin, no pressure, just letting the anticipation build. That’s the mistake most people make. They rush. Try to inflict as much pain as possible so they can get their answers.
But the wait…it does things to the human brain. It activates the fear centers and pain pathways, increasing the unpleasantness. Sometimes it even triggers the body’s own pain-modulating systems, amplifying the actual experience, sometimes even creating pain when there is none.
I take a step back. There’s a fine tremble going through his body as the fear center in his brain imagines the worst. As strong as his mental walls may be, pain is a strong force.
“You can’t scare me.” There’s a fine tremble in his voice.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” I say. “I’m preparing you.” I mimic his own words that he said to me.
He smirks. “I know every move you’ll make then.”
I chuckle. “That’s where you’re mistaken.”
Without warning, I slash the knife into his arm, shredding a thin slice.
His body jolts but the restraints hold him in place. He grunts. His breathing quickens as the pain heightens.
“You know what answer I want, I’ll just keep going until I get it.”
I press my blade against the wound again, his jaw clenches, his fists ball. He can’t hide from me.
“We’re going to take our time,” I say into his ear. “You can hold out as long as you like. How much pain you endure will be up to you.”
Time loses its shape. The air buzzes with tension and violence. The tang of copper is stuck in my nose.
My shirt clings to me, darkened with sweat. My hands ache from repetition. I flex my hands, trying to work the stiffness out.
Gideon’s head hangs forward, his breathing is uneven. Wet. Shallow.
His arms and legs are no longer smooth lines; they’re ruined patterns. Marked over and over again, like wood that’s been scored too many times by an impatient blade. Not random.
Never random.
Intentional.
There’s a thin trail on the floor beneath him, heading towards the drain under the table. I step around it without looking. I’ve been careful. He groans when I stop in front of him. I haven’t touched him, but he feels it. That tells me everything.
“You’ve had hours.” My voice is rough. “Plenty of time to decide what you value more.”
He swallows. It’s loud in the silence.
“Loyalty to a poor excuse of a man, or functionality over your body.” I continue.
He doesn’t speak, just pants.
“You were right about one thing: pain doesn’t break people.” I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders. “Exhaustion does.”
I circle him again. “And it seems that you’re running low on fumes.”
I head to the table, unscrewing a cap of alcohol. My father’s favorite trick. The cap hits the floor, and he jumps. He knows what’s coming.
“I’ll give you a chance. Where’s Daniel?”
His mouth presses into a thin line. I can see every part of him screaming from the pain, while also knowing how much more pain he’ll be in if I pour this bottle on his wounds.
He’s not willing to endure that for Daniel. He’s only endured up to this point to prove a point, his strength. His ability to withstand the torture. But he’s at the end of his rope, I can see the frayed edges, the thread is hanging on for dear life, about to snap.
I shrug as he remains silent. I slowly start to tilt the bottle, and the first big drops plop onto his arm.
“Alright! Alright!” he yells, and I pause.
“You have ten seconds, or I resume pouring,” I say.
“Daniel, he’s at a secondary holding site. A decommissioned private psychiatric annex. He’s holding current captives, conditioning them for what we want them to be. Or extracting information. Also, for transfer or disposal.”
I blink.
“So he’s training assassins, interrogating, trafficking, and murdering?” Noah’s voice comes through my ear.
“The psychiatric facility is already built for containment. With reinforced doors, observation windows, and medical restraints. It’s the perfect hideout,” I mumble back.
I turn back to my sperm donor. I won’t be calling him my father ever again.
“Where’s the facility?”
“Inland Empire Foothills. Redwood Valley Psychiatric Annex.”
“You’ve been holding people, using them for your sick pleasure,” I grit out. The urge to dump the bottle is strong.
“I don’t hold people, Daniel does. I just provided the funds.” He shrugs.
“Where are they getting the people to condition?” Lucian asks in my ear.
I relay the question to Gideon.
“The Inland Empire has a lot of economically vulnerable families. Most teens who disappear are misclassified as runaways. Plus, the police underprioritize these cases, believing they run on their own.” Gideon replies.
“Sick fuck.” I hear Luca.
“They’re just kidnapping teens,” Isobel says, her voice hollow. The beast rages at the despair I hear in her voice.
“How is Daniel conditioning them?” I’m gritting my teeth so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if my molars cracked.
His jaw works, and I already know I won’t like the answer. “The people that need to be eliminated, they’re forced to eliminate them, or they get punished.”
I hear Isobel gasp in my ear. I’ve heard enough.
I hold the bottle above him and turn it over.
Letting the sound of his screams feed my beast.