Chapter Twenty #2
He led them out of the hospital, with guards following in their wake. A convoy of black Cadillac SUVs waited for them. He and Jeremiah got into the first one and they were whisked away from the building.
For the entire trip to the Monarque, all he thought about was Lowen at the mercy of a sadistic demon.
The man who had murdered her in another life.
No longer did he waver on whether she told the truth or not.
He was firmly in her corner, and when he got his hands on Scias Mailliard he was going to rip the son of a bitch in half.
When they parked, he was the first one out, and made a beeline to the personal elevator that led him down to the basement.
He punched the code into the door which gave him access to the bright room.
Jeremiah’s assistant, a very naked Tucker, was trussed up like a pinata hanging from his arms, which were pulled tight over his head and left him barely able to balance upon tiptoes.
It was a posture designed to inflict slow torture, until gravity eventually won and dislocated the ball and socket joints.
“Welcome back, brother,” Saxon greeted. He flicked the half-unconscious man’s forehead in order to wake him up. “Hey, buddy, the Inquisitor is here.”
Tucker had always been one of those quiet types, the kind you didn’t know was there until he moved or made a sound. The perfect, fucking rat.
“If you can’t get the information from him, then I’ll step in,” Saxon said.
“I’ll get the info.” Lowen’s life depended on his actions. The good and sanctimonious Evren was gone. No more knight in shining armor. “I’ll remove every piece of him slowly until he cracks.”
Saxon pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “My little man has grown up. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“Fuck off.”
He chuckled. “I like playing music while I work. You can stream my playlist in the music app. It’s called ‘torture them all playlist.’”
Tucker lifted his head, strain around his eyes. “What the hell, Evren? What’s the meaning of this?”
“If I was a traitorous scum, I’d think twice about the attitude.”
Wariness entered Tucker’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Where is Lowen?”
“Who?”
“Lowen Hayes.”
“I-I don’t know who that is.”
Evren got right into his face. “Well, then, let me jog your memory. You. Betrayed. Us. And now, you will tell me everything I want to know. Including where Scias Mailliard took Lowen.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s how you want this to go?” Evren walked over to one of the workbenches and perused the knives. “Admit you’re a traitor and tell me where she is.”
“Who’s accusing me?”
“Scias was overheard mentioning you’re his spy, so don’t lie to me again.”
For a moment, Evren thought he wasn’t going to confess. But the moment faded as Tucker quavered on his tiptoes, lips curled in hatred. “You never paid me what I deserved,” he accused. “Dealing with all your family bullshit day after day.”
White-hot anger boiled through Even’s blood, demanding revenge. “We treated you like family. We trusted you. What was the price of your betrayal?”
Tucker lifted his chin defiantly. “A million dollars more.”
“You sold your soul to our enemy,” Evren said calmly. “Did you think we’d let you walk away?”
“What’re you gonna do?” Tucker taunted. “Sic the psycho on me?”
Evren chose a slightly curved filet knife. He carefully tested the razor-sharp edge, watching how Tucker’s brave bravado faltered.
“I don’t need Saxon,” he drawled.
Evren stepped closer to run the trenchant steel down Tucker’s cheek, opening the skin just enough to draw small beads of blood. A distressed whimper escaped, and the realization that he was royally fucked dawned in his gaze.
“Now, you will tell me where Scias has Lowen,” he ordered.
Tucker shook his head. “He’ll kill me.”
Evren raised an eyebrow. “ I’ll kill you if you don’t talk.”
“I’d rather take my chances with you than him.”
“Oh,” Evren said, surprised. “You think I’m the lesser of two evils?”
Tucker swallowed and lifted his chin a fraction. “I know you, Evren. You’re the peacekeeper.”
“And that makes me less deadly than Scias? Less deranged than Saxon? Less mean than Jeremiah?”
“Scias Mailliard will gut me.”
Evren smiled, but he wasn’t playing nice anymore. “I guess I have to demonstrate how I carve a mean steak with a filet knife.”
Whatever color had remained in Tucker’s face leached at his words. Evren trailed the pointed tip down his chest and over to one nipple. Then, with a deft twist of his wrist, he sliced it off.
“Oh, my fucking God!” Tucker screamed. He thrashed in the chains, but there wasn’t any escape. He tried to find purchase on solid ground, but he was strung up a tad too high.
Evren wrapped his hand around Tucker’s neck and squeezed. “Ready to talk?”
“Fuck you,” Tucker wheezed, spittle flying out of his mouth.
“Wrong answer.” In the blink of an eye, the other nipple joined the first one on the ground. Tucker’s shrieks of agony were magic to his ears. “Tell me what I want to know.”
“F-fuck off.”
Evren walked over to the table that held Saxon’s assortment of torture implements. He placed the bloody knife back into its spot and picked up the hand torch. He lit it up to make sure it worked.
“What are you going to do with that?” Tucker asked, his voice warbling in pain and fear.
“Nothing, if you tell me what I want to know.”
Tucker kept his mouth shut.
“As you wish.” Evren extended his arm and placed the blue flame close to Tucker’s chest without touching him.
Immediately, his screams pierced the air as the skin bubbled and melted in a perfect circle.
The stench of sizzling flesh filled the air.
When he finally turned the torch off and placed it back on the table, tears and snot ran down Tucker’s face. He looked ready to pass out.
Evren tapped him on the face. “You still with me?”
“Fu-fuck ... off.”
“Very well.” He turned and grabbed the rubber gloves, slipping them on. Then he picked up a two-pronged fork. “You’re going to die today, but you get to determine how much pain you’re willing to endure before I end your misery.”
A popping sound cracked the air and Tucker cried out again as he slumped. His arms were unnaturally vertical because they had pulled out of their joints. Evren enjoyed the agony on the bastard’s face. He fisted Tucker’s hair, yanked his head back, and placed the fork next to one eye.
“I’m holding an escargot fork,” he told Tucker.
“This helps pull out those delicious snails from their shells. Know what else this fork makes easy? Plucking eyeballs. Now, you think I’m too soft.
Too kind-hearted. But know this. I will happily take your eyes and piss in their sockets. So, one more chance. Where. Is. Lowen?”
“A-at Dire ... ridge.” Tucker whimpered. “P-please. No more.”
It was a plea for mercy. Evren pulled harder on Tucker’s hair. “Are you lying to me?”
Tucker shook his head. “Swear.”
Evren saw truth in the other man’s dull, pain-filled eyes. He placed the escargot fork aside and picked up a wicked-looking hunting knife. He placed the blade at Tucker’s neck and sliced it across the skin, so sharp it was like a hot knife through butter.
“Go to Hell, you son of a bitch.”
He watched the life fade from Tucker’s eyes before stripping off his gloves to hurry to the door. Saxon melted from the shadows and held out a new t-shirt.
“You have blood all over that shirt.”
“Thanks,” Evren grunted. He stripped the tee over his head and traded with Saxon.
“That was beautifully savage and I loved every minute. I’m gonna use the blowtorch method one day. Maybe on eyeballs to watch them pop.”
“Come on,” Evren said, ignoring the praise. “We have to get to Direridge right now.”