Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
INDIGO
The air is thick with dust and the lingering scent of rust and oil. This factory has been abandoned for years, forgotten by the city, left to crumble. The only light comes from the single flickering bulb Malik rigged up, casting long, eerie shadows against the cracked concrete and rusted metal beams. It’s perfect.
Elias is still out cold, slumped in the chair Malik secured him to. Heavy-duty rope binds his wrists and ankles, the coarse fibers already biting into his skin. His clothes are reduced to nothing but pathetic tighty-whities, the fabric clinging to his skin in the damp, cold air. I pace in front of him, the distant hum of traffic barely audible through the shattered windows and corroded steel walls. There’s something almost poetic about this—the hunter becoming the hunted. The predator finding himself caged.
Malik leans against a rusted-out conveyor belt, arms crossed, eyes dark with unreadable thoughts. He’s letting me take the lead on this, just like we planned. This isn’t his game—it’s mine.
I reach out, trailing a fingertip along Elias’s jaw before giving his face a sharp slap. Not enough to hurt, just enough to wake him up. He jerks, blinking groggily, his confusion morphing into panic as his situation registers. The ropes. The chair. Me.
“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” I purr, crouching in front of him. “You and I have some things to discuss.”
He yanks at his restraints, but Malik tied him down tight. Foolish of him to think he’d have a chance.
“W-what the hell is this?” His voice cracks, fear creeping in.
I smile, slow and sweet, dragging my nails lightly down his arm. “Oh, Elias. You’re a smart man. Take a guess.”
His breath comes faster now, his mind racing. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re making a mistake.”
Malik chuckles behind me, low and cruel. “That so?”
I lean in, my lips just a whisper from Elias’ ear. “You see, the thing about mistakes is… you made one first. A big one.”
His whole body goes rigid. He knows. He fucking knows.
I grip his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me, Elias. Do you regret it? Do you regret every single girl you hurt?”
Silence.
I sigh, reaching into the bag beside me and pulling out the first tool of the night. A small, wickedly sharp blade that glints under the weak light. His eyes go wide.
“You might want to start talking,” I murmur, pressing the tip against his collarbone. “Because we’ve got all night.”
The blade grazes his skin, and he shudders, the shock rolling through him.
“Please,” Elias stammers, his bravado shattering like brittle glass. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do,” I reply, my voice dripping with honeyed malice. “You see, every girl you’ve ever harmed deserves justice. And I’m here to serve it.” With a flick of my wrist, the blade pierces his skin just enough to draw a thin line of crimson that spills forth like a confession. A single droplet rolls down his collarbone and pools in the hollow of his throat.
He gasps, eyes wide with panic, and I relish the sight. This is power—my power—a heady rush coursing through my veins as I press deeper into his psyche. “Tell me where you find them,” I demand, leaning closer so that he can feel my breath against his cheek.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stutters.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper. “That’s the sound of your life hanging by a thread.” I lean back slightly, studying his face. The way his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist, is intoxicating. “You’re not in control anymore. You never were.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything!” he snaps, but there’s a tremor in his voice that betrays him. The bravado is fading fast; he knows it too.
“Maybe not,” I say lightly, pulling back only to let the blade hover just above his skin. “But what if I showed you how much pain your little games can bring? What if I made you feel just a fraction of what they felt?” With that, I slice deeper, watching his face contort in agony as he gasps for air.
“Stop! Please!” he pleads, eyes wide with terror now. “I’ll tell you! Just stop!”
“Tell me everything,” I command softly, my tone deceptively sweet.
“There’s a warehouse… on the outskirts… near the old depot.”
“Go on,” I urge.
“They… they bring them in under false pretenses—modeling jobs or internships or some other bullshit.” His words tumble out.
“Who?” Malik interjects from behind me, stepping closer to loom over Elias like an avenging angel ready to deliver judgment.
Elias shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, voice shaking. “I—I can’t?—”
I reach for another tool: a pair of shears that glint under the dim light. I hold them up for him to see.
“Do you see these?” I ask, my voice low and steady, almost soothing. “They’re not just for pruning roses. They’re for cutting away the rot.”
I kneel beside him, bringing the shears up to his trembling hand, the one that has inflicted so much pain. “This finger,” I say softly, tracing the metal along his knuckles. “It’s responsible for so many lies and betrayals. It needs to be severed from your body—just like those innocent lives you’ve ruined.”
“No! Please!” His voice rises in pitch as I position them over his finger. He squirms against the restraints binding him to the chair, but it only serves to make my resolve stronger.
I look into his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes that once held power over so many—and I feel a surge of satisfaction at the thought of reclaiming some control for all those who had none. “Tell me who else is involved,” I demand again, my voice unwavering.
“I can’t… they’ll kill me!” he gasps, sweat beading on his forehead.
I press down with the shears just enough for him to feel the bite of metal against flesh—a warning more than anything else. “Then let’s make sure you don’t have to worry about them.” With that final word hanging in the air like an executioner’s gavel, I squeeze harder.
Elias screams as I slice through skin and bone—a sickening crunch followed by an explosion of crimson that splatters across my shirt and face. The warmth envelops my senses; it feels almost euphoric—the rawness of it grounding me in this moment where justice finally takes form.
“Who?” I demand again through gritted teeth as Elias writhes in agony.
“Okay! Okay!” he gasps out between sobs and choked breaths. “There’s a-a-a group,” shaking his head, “they—they find what we like or want. They send pictures, get the details, and then lure them in with money, gifts… whatever it takes. It’s not illegal. We’re doing nothing wrong.”
“It’s grooming!” I scream.
In one smooth motion, I grab the knife once more, slicing along both sides of his underwear, the blade gliding through the fabric with ease. With a sharp yank, I tear the rest away, ripping it out from under him. The sound of fabric shredding fills the air, blending with his startled yelp as he realizes just how exposed he truly is.
“Look at you,” I taunt, reveling in his humiliation. “A man stripped bare—not just of clothing, but of all pretenses.” I let the tip of the knife glide along his thigh.
“What do you want?” he whimpers, eyes wide and pleading.
“I want you to understand,” I growl through clenched teeth. “I want you to grasp the depth of your depravity.”
“It’s not like that! They just… they provide a service. You can’t blame me for what they do.”
“And what about the girls? The ones who said no? What about Marissa?”
Elias swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with fear as he realizes the game has changed. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie to me, Elias,” I growl, my voice cold as ice. “Tell me what happens to the girls who say no, or I will make you wish you were never born.”
He shakes his head wildly, but I can see the truth in his eyes. I grab onto his limp genitalia and twist it hard enough to elicit a high-pitched scream from him.
“Indigo!” Malik barks.
I shoot him a warning glare over my shoulder. “Don’t look, baby,” I purr.
“You’re a fucking pedophile and you know it. You prey on young, impressionable girls who just want a better life,” I say as I tighten my grip on his dick.
With one swift motion, I plunge the knife into his penis, destroying the very organ he used to hurt so many others. He screams in agony as blood sprays across the cold concrete floor. Malik turns away, gagging as he leans against the wall. I can't blame him; this is not pretty. But neither were the lives Elias ruined.
“That,” I say conversationally as I hold up his bloody trophy for him to see, “is for Marissa and all the other girls whose lives you ruined.”
His screams are music to my ears as I drop his discarded cock onto him. It bounces grotesquely off his still-heaving chest before falling to the floor. I wipe the bloodied knife on a handkerchief before tucking it back into my bag.
“Now,” I say, my voice cold as I lean in close to whisper in his ear, “tell me everything you know about your friends who find your victims.”
Elias whimpers, his eyes full of fear as he stares up at me. “They... they're from all over the country,” he manages to gasp out between pants. “They... they fly them out... makes it harder to track.”
He blubbers out more names and cities, desperate to appease me and end the pain. I listen intently, committing each detail to memory. This information will be passed on to Brandon, who will make sure these monsters are brought to justice—one way or another.
But for now, my focus is on Elias. He has spilled his secrets, but he still owes for his crimes.
I walk over to my bag, retrieving a blowtorch. His eyes widen in terror as he realizes what's next.
“Do you know what you are now, Elias?” I ask him softly as I crouch down so that our eyes meet. “You’re a cautionary tale.”
The flame ignites with a sharp hiss, casting an orange glow over the rusted surroundings. I watch him—his entire body goes stiff, his eyes locked on the flame.
I move the flame closer to his exposed body, keeping it steady as the heat begins to sear the edges of his flesh. The first hiss of burning skin fills the air, and his whole body jerks violently.
“Please…” His voice is a broken whisper, but I ignore it.
I move the torch down his chest, the flame flickering and dancing, leaving behind raw, blistered patches. His cries are muffled by his own ragged breathing, but I can see the terror on his face as the pain becomes unbearable. He starts to thrash, but the ropes are too tight, too secure.
The blowtorch reaches his stomach, and I move it in a slow, deliberate arc. The flame ignites his flesh, charring it as the scent of burning human skin fills the air. His body goes rigid with shock, a final scream as the heat does its work.
And then, I turn the flame toward his face.
The heat is intense now, a steady, scorching wave of fire that dances over his features. I watch, unmoving, as the skin on his face begins to bubble and blacken, his eyes wide with horror. The fire catches, spreading, and Elias’s mouth opens in a silent scream.
His body goes limp as the life drains from him, his final breaths shallow and weak. The blowtorch flickers one last time as he succumbs to the searing flames, leaving only the smell of death.
“Rest in agony,” I whisper softly, because there is no peace for him.