Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Torture is an art form I’ve learned through the years, mastered for decades, and explored in different variations with anyone who I found fit.
Most people will say I’m a monster or a psycho.
However, in life, nothing is ever that simple, as evil and goodness are in the eye of the beholder.”
Lachlan
Lachlan
Classical music echoes when I enter my dungeon, carefully designed to bring the most pain to my victims, where they would suffer greatly before going to hell.
These walls heard so many cries of despair, they might as well reek of them.
It even holds the bite and scratch marks of those who begged to be saved, and that inspires only laughter in me, for who could ever respect them after that?
Granted, I've built such a strong brotherhood over the years that I haven’t participated in torture much lately, but a wolf is always a wolf.
Even if he falls in love and builds a family, hunting instincts don’t go anywhere.
Especially when his cub suffers at the hands of someone like Jonathan.
A whimper interrupts the music, and I look at the man, his hands and feet stuck together and nailed to the wall as he’s naked. Blood dripping from his various wounds mixes with the sweat and tears, while his eyes are filled with so much hurt it's a wonder they don’t bulge.
He has no idea what true pain entails, but he will learn.
My child. My baby boy—our little warrior.
He thought he could hide the cracks in his soul from me, fooling me into believing he forgot about his past, but I recognized his agony because I shared a similar one of my own.
I knew his dark desires would need an outlet, but he’d never come to me. That’s why I asked Arson to guide him and teach him even though I’ve been overseeing every lesson.
Watched him build his dungeon and knew about all the things he participated in while searching for that fucker.
Sometimes our children’s greatest misconception is that their parents do not know or understand them, but if you love your child, you see right through them.
However, he wouldn’t talk about the rapist, and without any information, it was hard to run my own investigation.
Besides, it was Levi’s right.
Jonathan whimpers again and then cries out when he pulls at his hands, but they stay unmovable. “Just kill me,” he begs, licking his chapped lips and wincing. “I deserve death.”
Swaying my metallic cane from side to side, I come closer to him, and ask, “Where would be the fun in that, Jonathan? Your victims suffered for years, and you want a quick death?”
Once upon a time, I preferred to kill them all once I caught them because, to me, letting them live was an insult in itself.
I became more lenient over the years, as long as their prolonged time on Earth entailed their eternal suffering where even hell seemed like salvation.
Their victims never got any reprieves. Why should they?
“I hurt your son so much. Do you know once I paid for him to be starved and beaten for twenty-four hours straight?” He laughs. “The boy was puking all over the floor while they kicked him over and over again.”
The thing about men like Jonathan?
They have no self-control over their hideous vices, so they think everyone is like them when we are very different.
Our rage is controlled and manifests itself in the artistic torture that’s a divine intervention.
I put the metallic tip of the cane against his neck, then press the button.
The tip changes to a sharp knife and pierces his collarbone as his scream almost mutes the music.
I drag it until blood drips down his stomach, and smile.
“Every single day you will suffer unimaginable pain only to be patched up again and for it to start all over the next day. We won’t kill, but you will wish for it for the remainder of your miserable life. ”
He shakes his head in denial, and I snap my fingers so the wall opposite him turns into a glass where he can see my most trusted men and friends sitting there, watching him as they sip their whiskey.
“You know who they are?” I drag the cane upward until it reaches his chin, pressing the sharp tip in, and he stops to breathe, his eyes widening as tears fill them.
What a pathetic sight. “They are my son’s uncles.
And each one of them will take their turn to show you their talents.
Buckle up, Jonathan. Your punishment is about to start.
” I step back and go to my weapon table, running my fingers over the knives and settling on the drill instead.
Ah, what fun it will be.
“No,” he begs, and pulls at his arms and legs again, groaning when it only tears his skin. “Just kill me. I don’t want this.”
“Nobody asked you. In case you haven’t noticed.
” I open my arms wide. “This is my domain. It’s payback time, Jonathan.
” A beat passes, and I grin, curving my mouth when I turn on the drill, and the trrrr sound fills the space.
“Oh, and Jonathan, one more thing before we begin? Consider it a final fuck-you from Anastasia.”
His brow furrows only for a tortured scream to erupt from his throat when I tell him the truth that’s been hidden from him.
And with that, I proceed to hurt him, not that it would ever atone for his sins.
After all, life is cruel.
Thankfully, so are we.