Chapter Ten
The room is almost identical to the one in the cabin but here is more professional, organized, almost like a morgue designed by someone who enjoys their work far too much.
“Is this where you bring your victims?” I ask, leaning against the steel table lined with knives, scalpels, and tools I can’t name.
My masked man stands against the far wall, mask still on, arms crossed. Even under the hoodie I can see the tension in his shoulders, the coiled readiness in his stance, as if he’s just waiting for a reason to move.
“Sometimes,” he says. “If we need to dig out information.”
“How long have you been doing this?” I angle toward him, trying to catch a flicker of his eyes through the shadows.
“Almost ten years.” The words are clipped. Final, as if there’s a vault behind them, and he’s not about to give me the combination.
“Okay.” I don’t push.
Sterling stirs. His eyes flutter open, and the second he registers me, he’s screaming into the gag, thrashing against the chains.
“Hey you,” I chirp, and that makes his panic bloom even faster. His gaze darts over my shoulder, landing on the masked figure behind me and the scream pitches higher, frantic, and I almost smile.
“He’s the least of your problems, Sterling.”
I pick up one of the knives from the table. My fingers slide along the edge until I feel it cut through my skin, and a bead of blood swells and slides down to the floor.
The masked man moves, quiet, fast, and his hand closes over mine.
“These aren’t from Knives ’R’ Us,” he murmurs, easing the blade from my grip.
He lifts the mask just enough to show me his mouth.
His strong jawline, the curve of his lips, the ink crawling up his throat.
Before I can breathe he takes my finger into his mouth, his tongue smoothing over the cut, licking the blood from my skin.
My pulse hammers, breath tangles in my chest. I should push him away, but my body doesn’t listen, his presence is everywhere, pressing into me without even touching, and I hate how much I want to lean into it.
“There.” He releases me, pulls the mask back down. “No more blood.”
Holy shit.
I turn back to Sterling, reclaiming the knife, trying to steady my breathing. I move closer and let the blade’s edge kiss his cheek, slow enough that his skin shivers before it splits.
“Two years ago,” I say, voice low, “you raped a girl with your friends. A night out at a party. You drugged her. You blackmailed her, not for money, not for leverage but just to prove you could destroy someone and walk away untouched.”
He thrashes harder, but the chains sing as they hold him. His scream rattles against the gag, panic thrumming through the room. I press the blade deeper, watching the blood run warm down his neck.
“Well, tonight…” My eyes lock on his, unblinking. “I’m here to prove you were wrong.”
He keeps screaming, like they always do. Begging, promising to change, and pleading for mercy, but mercy is for saints, and I’m not here to save him.
I’m here to drag him to hell.
“I wonder how many more you raped over the years—”
“Twenty-one.”
The number slices through me like a blade. I whip my head toward him. “What?” My voice is all bite. “Twenty-one?”
My gaze snaps back to Sterling, hatred lighting up every muscle in my body.
I reach for the knife before I even realize I’m moving, the weight solid and familiar in my palm.
I’m ready to bury it in his chest but a gloved hand closes over mine.
His body is right there, pressing into my back, heat bleeding through the mask, leather and Kevlar.
His other hand settles on my hip, fingers curling with possession. His breath ghosts my ear, warm, low.
“Let’s make him suffer, hellcat.”
His grip tightens, not to stop me, but to guide me, to draw this out.
“Start with the eye,” he murmurs. “It’s slower. He’ll feel every second.”
Sterling thrashes, muffled screams spiking, but the man behind me doesn’t flinch. Instead, he’s steady, anchored, like we have all the time in the world.
“Breathe,” he says, his voice curling through me. “Don’t waste your anger all at once. Make it last.”
My cheeks heat and I nod.
Eidolon, or whatever his real name is, steps away only to circle like a wolf, coming up behind Sterling.
One hand fists in his hair, jerking his head back until his neck strains, the other pries his eyelid wide.
The gag turns Sterling’s scream into something ugly and desperate, but Eidolon’s breathing stays even.
He turns his masked face toward me, silent, waiting.
The scalpel glints under the light, my fingers curl around it, the handle warm in my grip, and I step into Sterling’s line of sight.
“She’ll carry your marks in her body and her mind forever,” my eyes locked on his, “when she learns you all died screaming, maybe she’ll sleep a little easier.”
Sterling bucks hard, the chains rattling, but Eidolon’s hold is unshakable.
I lift the scalpel, the first cut is slow, delicate, almost tender, just above the lash line.
Blood blooms instantly, hot against my fingers as it trails down his cheek.
His body jerks, gagged wails vibrating through the air, but I keep going; tracing the curve of his eyelid with cruel precision, keeping it intact, perfect for what comes next.
“Good,” Eidolon murmurs, low enough that it feels like it’s inside me, curling down my spine. “Keep your hand steady.”
I move to the lower lid, the scalpel parting flesh with a wet, sucking sound that rips another shudder out of him. My other hand braces against his jaw, feeling the muscles twitch and seize beneath my palm. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood, hot and invasive.
Eidolon’s grip tightens in Sterling’s hair, tilting his head back so I can reach deeper.
“Now… slide under the muscle,” he instructs, and I obey, the blade slipping behind the orb of his eye, the resistance giving way until Sterling convulses, gagged screams clawing at the air, his feet scraping uselessly across the floor.
A slow, precise pull severs the optic nerve with a sickening snap, and the eyeball slides forward into my palm, slick and trembling in its own fluids.
I hold it up between us, blood dripping in slow drops from my fingers.
Eidolon’s mask tilts slightly. His voice drops to a whisper. “Beautiful.”
The eye is warm in my hand as I cross to the steel table and let it fall onto the plate. It lands with a soft sound, rolling once before settling. Even through the blood, the blue shines almost unnaturally bright, too pure for what it’s seen.
“Ready for the second one?” he asks.
I don’t answer. My body feels locked, my pulse a heavy thud in my throat. I sense him moving closer. For the first time, he strips the gloves from his hands, and when his bare fingers touch my shoulder, heat blooms across my skin.
“You okay, hellcat?”
“Yes.” The word barely makes it past my lips. “I just wish I was there when they—”
The thought dies in my throat.
“If you were, you’d be a victim too,” he says, his voice rough velvet, “and they wouldn’t have left you both alive.” His fingertips draw slow, warm circles just below my neck, each one stealing more of my breath.
“Do you want me to finish it?” he asks gently, softly, and I hide the tear that falls from my eye.
I turn to face him. “No. I want to do it.”
I smile faintly and reach for his mask, not to strip it away, but to grip it, dragging him closer. I press my lips to where his should be beneath the fabric, the cloth soft and warm from his breath.
“Tamsin,” he murmurs.
“Eidolon,” I breathe back, my forehead resting against his.
“Eiden.”
My breath stutters and my gaze locks on the mask. “Eiden.”
He nods once, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, holding me there.
“Finish him,” he says, amusement curling at his words, “so I can make you finish on my tongue.”
Heat coils low in my stomach, I bite my bottom lip, and in that moment, I want him. Not just his mouth, but the full, brutal weight of him inside me.
I turn back to Sterling, his chest heaves in shallow bursts, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.
The blood from his first missing eye is streaking down one side of his face in dark, wet lines.
The gag muffles every sound, but panic roars clear in the single blue eye that’s left, rolling frantically as I move closer.
I pick up the scalpel again, and Eiden shifts behind him, a gloved hand locking into Sterling’s hair and forcing his head back, his fingers prying that last eyelid wide. The eye darts, desperate to follow me.
“Breathe,” he says again.
The first cut traces the upper lid, slow, steady, slicing through skin that quivers beneath the blade. Sterling’s muffled cry vibrates through the gag, hot tears mixing with the blood as it wells along the seam. I take the lower lid next, the scalpel gliding through reluctant flesh until it yields.
“Perfect again,” Eiden murmurs, the praise curling under my skin. His grip doesn’t falter, even as Sterling thrashes.
I slide the blade behind the orb, feeling the taut resistance of muscle before a twist and careful pull snap the optic nerve. The eye slips into my palm, warm and slick, its perfect blue staring up at me.
Eiden releases him, letting his head hang forward, body shaking in the chains, blood dripping from his eye sockets.
I look at the twin in my hands, two perfect, glassy blues, and place them side by side on the steel plate. They’re glossy under the harsh light, and almost beautiful in their wrongness. My gaze drifts lower, to the final step of the ritual, the one I’ve been waiting for.
Eiden hasn’t moved far, he leans against the wall, one arm folded across his chest, the other cupped lazily over his crotch, the tilt of his head is pure amusement.
“You know,” he says, voice lazy but edged, “I’m starting to think I should’ve worn a cup tonight.”
I smirk, stepping closer to Sterling without looking away from him. “Why? Planning to make me angry?”
“No,” he says, shifting his grip with emphasis, “planning to keep these exactly where they are.” His masked gaze drops to the scalpel in my fingers. “Though watching you work… I might offer one voluntarily. For the right reason.”
A laugh escapes me, low, breathless. “Careful. I might take that as a challenge.”
Sterling’s muffled protests climb, the chains clinking with his panic. I step between his legs, the air thickening with every movement. The scalpel kisses the inside of his thigh, light at first, testing, teasing, before pressing just enough to draw a bead of blood.
“Easy,” Eiden murmurs. “Make it last, hellcat.”
I move Sterling’s dick up, and the scalpel sinks deeper into his testicle.
His skin parts, the blood spills fast and hot over my gloves.
Sterling bucks against the chains, a garbled scream shattering against the gag, but I don’t rush.
I sever the cord with slowness, feeling every resistant strand give way until one perfect piece of his balls dangles from my fingers.
Eiden tilts his head, voice low and amused. “You know, hellcat… I don’t know if it’s safe to have you near my balls.”
I grin, dropping it onto the plate beside the eyes. “Don’t worry. Yours are safe… for now.”
His chuckle is dark, thick enough to curl around my spine. “Safe, hm? I’ll remember you said that.”
Sterling slumps forward, body trembling, breath shallow. Alive, barely. I hope he stays long enough for the rest of the ritual.
The plate waits with the twin blue eyes staring through the blood pooled beneath them, bright even in death. Beside them the two pale ovals rest together, obscene in their fragility. I look at them for a heartbeat before reaching for the needle and thread laid out.
Sterling groans and tries to lean away, but the chains groan with him, holding him exactly where I want him.
Eiden says nothing now, he simply watches, mask tilted, his presence a weight pressed along my spine.
I thread the needle slowly, my hands steady, my pulse calm, and I realize I’ve never done this with so much control.
“For every girl you drugged,” I say softly. “For everyone you raped… this is for them, for her.”
The needle pierces the raw flesh of his eyelid, and he jerks violently, but the steel around his wrists and ankles don’t give. I pull the thread through, black slicing against pale, binding the testicle in place where his eye once was. His muffled scream rattles through the gag.
“This is for the one you laughed at when she cried.” Another stitch.
“This is for the one who begged you to stop.”
Blood runs hot over my gloves, soaking into the fabric, warm against my skin even through the barrier. The testicle is slick, alien in its new place, but it fits, because I force it to. Because he will carry something for once in his life.
“This…” My voice drops as I meet the empty hollow where his other eye used to be. “…this is for her. For all of them.”
His body seizes, the noise he makes rising thin and high before breaking entirely. Then… silence. His head drops forward and the chains go still. I watch his chest for a rise that doesn’t come. He's gone, yet my hands keep working.
The last stitch pulls tight, sealing the socket in a neat, cruel shape. Only when I tie it off do I step back.
Pride settles deep in my chest. It’s beautiful in a macabre kind of way and now he will never hurt another soul, because in this room, every woman he thought powerless has her shadow stitched into his body. Justice carried him into the dark.
Eiden steps behind me. “You’re magnificent, hellcat.”