Chapter 50
Brooke
Igot the idea from one of my favorite revenge horror movies, the kind that never really leaves your head once you see it. The setup had stuck with me for years, the image of someone forced to balance over something that would eat them alive the second they slipped. It felt right for Sophie.
The industrial tub sits against the wall, stainless steel, deep enough that you could lose a person in it without much effort.
Four thick wooden planks lie across the top, two near where a chest would land and two near the hips and thighs.
They are spaced just narrowly enough that a body can lie across them, but not comfortably, and definitely not safely.
Hot water already fills the tub halfway.
Steam rolls up in steady waves, turning the air thick and humid.
Beau hauls Sophie out of the cage with no sedation. Her face looks pale and clammy, but her eyes are clear and pissed off. She twists hard in his grip, teeth bared.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” she snarls.
Beau doesn't look impressed. He rolls her onto her stomach on the floor and pulls her arms behind her back. The rope slides around her broken wrists and ankles, tightening into a clean hogtie before she can twist away. She thrashes anyway, muscles jerking, breath coming out in harsh bursts.
“You should save your energy,” Beau scoffs. “You’ll need it.”
Together, we lift her and carry her to the tub.
Four wooden planks stretch across the width of it, spaced a few inches apart.
Steam rolls up through the gaps in slow, thick waves.
Beau lays her across them on her stomach, her body perpendicular to the boards.
One plank sits under her shoulders, one beneath her abdomen, one at her hips, and one under her knees.
The wood creaks as her weight settles. The structure holds, but not comfortably. The gaps between the planks leave parts of her unsupported, forcing her body into a strained, uneven line. Heat curls up around her face when she exhales.
She tests it immediately, shifting her weight. The planks answer with low groans and a slight dip that brings her closer to the steaming surface.
“You might want to be still for this,” I say.
That gets her attention. Her breathing stutters, then slows just enough. She makes smaller movements now, careful ones. Each one earns a soft creak from the wood and a subtle drop toward the water below.
Seth sits at the metal table nearby with both their phones in his hands, Sophie’s in one and Elliot’s in the other. Screens glow against his fingers while he scrolls through message threads and location logs. He looks calm and patient, like he is reviewing paperwork before a meeting.
Elliot watches everything from his cage, hands locked around the bars, jaw clenched so hard the muscles jump. His ruined leg stretches out in front of him, but his eyes stay sharp with anger and fear.
I crouch in front of Sophie so we are almost eye level, the tub between us.
“Here is how this works,” I say. “You tell the truth and maybe you die faster. You lie and things change.”
She swallows. Her throat bobs against damp skin.
“Where is Grant?” I ask. “And where is John?”
She lets out a weak laugh that sounds thin. “Fuck you.”
“You don’t have enough time for that,” I say. “Answer the question.”
“They’re going to kill you,” she rasps. “You’re not going to get to them. They’re going to get you.”
I don't respond.
I plant my hand on the back of her head and shove her face straight into the hot water.
Her scream cuts off under the surface. Bubbles rush up around her ears. Her whole body lurches against the ropes. The planks groan as her weight shifts across them. The water climbs over her skull and cheeks, covering her completely. The heat hits her skin and steals her breath.
“Let’s see if you can last a minute.”
I hold her there while she thrashes, counting silently in my head. Her legs jerk and pull against the hogtie. Her shoulders strain against the plank beneath them. The wood flexes with every violent movement, but it holds.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty.
Her movements slow and turn sloppy, driven by instinct instead of control.
Forty-five.
Bubbles surge harder. Her body convulses.
At fifty-five I yank her head back up.
She comes up choking, water pouring from her mouth and nose. She coughs so hard it sounds like something might tear.
“You made it almost a minute,” I chuckle. “Not bad.”
Her hair sticks to her face in wet clumps. Her eyes are red and wild. Water runs off her chin and drips back into the tub.
“Where is Grant?” I ask again. “And where is John?”
“I told you,” she coughs. “You’re wasting your time. They move constantly. Nobody knows where they are.”
Seth’s voice cuts in from behind her.
“Lie.”
I hook my boot under the plank supporting her knees and kick it out from under her.
The wood cracks loose and slams to the concrete. Sophie’s legs drop a few inches, dragging the rest of her body down with them. She screams and tries to twist, but the remaining three planks barely hold her.
“You just lost stability,” I murmur “Try again.”
“Fuck you!” she gasps. “Grant’s got the police on his side. John moves around like a ghost. You’ll never find them before they get to you.”
“Then why haven’t they killed me yet?” I ask. “You have so much confidence in them, but are they here to save you. No.”
I raise my voice slightly.
“Seth, pour the lye.”
He stands, grabs the thick plastic bag Beau pulled earlier, and rips it open across the top. The white granules pour into the tub in a heavy stream. The reaction comes fast. The water hisses and turns cloudy, bubbling up in thick, milky waves. Heat rolls off it strong enough that my face prickles.
Sophie smells it before she registers it. Her nose wrinkles. Her eyes widen.
“What is that?” she screams.
“Motivation. Now. Where is Grant and John?”
She stares into the tub like it might jump up and grab her. Her fingers curl uselessly against the air, searching for something to hold.
“They were arguing,” she says quickly. “Seattle came up a lot. They move constantly. I never get full details.”
“Seth?”
“Partial truth,” he replies. “Seattle is in their messages. So is Denver. So is a gala with Victor Voss. She is picking pieces.”
I knock the plank under her hips away.
It shoots sideways and slams to the floor.
Sophie’s body dips again. Now only two planks hold her, one under her abdomen and one under her shoulders.
Her ribs press hard into the wood as her midsection sags between them.
Her face now hovers inches above the lye-clouded water.
Steam hits her skin directly. Her eyes squeeze shut for a second.
“Stop,” she sobs. “Please stop. You already have enough.”
“We barely started,” I say. “Where is Grant?”
“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she cries. “I was collateral. I only killed people because Elliot made me do it.”
“Not an answer,” I press. “Try again.”
I press down on the plank near her shoulders with my hand, forcing it to flex. Her body lowers another inch. The heat hits her fully then. She flinches and tries to arch away. The position makes her wrists scream and her hogtied limbs strain, but there is nowhere for that pain to go.
Seth’s voice comes from behind her again.
“She texted someone four days ago. She told them they would join Grant at a VossTech gala. She mentioned big donors, big launches, in two weeks.”
I lean closer to Sophie’s face.
“Let’s play a game. You tell me what you know and you get to die watching less of what happens to Elliot. You lie and you cook slower.”
Her eyes fill, more with rage than regret.
“I don’t know the location!” she shouts. “I swear to God I don't know. Grant said Victor was hosting a gala. Grant is going to be there. That is all I heard.”
“Where is the gala?”
“I'm not sure,” she says. “He only said VossTech. He said donors. He said security. He didn't say which building.”
In the cage, Elliot slams his hand against the bars.
“Shut the fuck up!” he shouts. “Don’t tell them anything. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Sophie flinches at his voice.
Her body trembles on the two remaining planks. The steam licks at her face and arms. Her muscles lock, trying to hold her torso up, trying to keep her mouth out of the water. Her shoulders shake violently. Her injured wrists spasm against the rope.
“You heard him,” I tell her. “He never cared whether you lived through this. You were always disposable.”
Her eyes fill fully then, tears mixing with sweat.
“They’ll kill you,” she whispers. “Grant will hunt you until you are dead.”
“He already tried,” I sigh. “Last chance. Give me everything.”
She breaks.
“Grant is going to be at Victor Voss’ gala,” she says, words spilling fast. “They're planning something big. I don’t know the venue. I don’t know the address. I only know he said that is where he takes the board and the donors, and that is where he wants to make his point.”
Seth scrolls again, checking for anything she might be hiding.
“She’s telling the truth now,” he says finally. “Nothing in here has the location. Just the name, the timing, and Victor.”
Sophie sucks in a breath like that information might save her.
It will not.
The heat licking at her skin has already started to bite. Her cheeks redden. The steam burns her eyes. Her muscles shake from effort. The angle forces her spine to arch, her ribs grinding into the planks that cross her chest. Every second upright costs her something.
“Here is the part you didn’t understand when you tortured innocent people,” I lean in close. “There is no version where you walk away clean. In fact, you won't walk away at all.”
Her arms tremble so violently that the planks rattle. A raw sound tears out of her throat. She is caught between the strain on her joints and the heat rising against her face.
Eventually, one of them wins.
She tips forward.
Her face breaks the surface of the lye-clouded water.
The scream tries to come out and immediately turns into a choking, gurgling sound.
She jerks back instinctively, but the position drags her into it again.
The reaction is immediate. Her skin reddens along her cheeks and lips.
She thrashes, trying to wrench herself upright again, but her muscles have nothing left.
I watch her fight with every weak inch she has. Her head lifts halfway, then sags again. The rope cuts into softened skin at her wrists and ankles. Her sobs turn hoarse and broken.
I kick away the plank under her shoulders.
The last support shifts. Her body tilts, balance gone.
“You can't hold yourself up forever,” I say quietly. “You really should have chosen a different side.”
Her chin hovers over the surface, trembling. Her breath comes out in wet, ragged gasps. Her arms shake like they might snap.
I place my boot against the final plank.
“Game over, Sophie.”
I push.
The plank slides free. Sophie’s body drops into the tub, swallowed by the white, hissing water. Her scream tears out once, then collapses into something wet and broken as the surface surges over her face.
The water reacts immediately.
It foams and churns around her like it has been waiting.
Her arms jerk violently, skin turning pale and slick as it begins to slide apart under the heat. I watch patches of her flesh loosen and peel, curling away from her body in thin, ugly ribbons that drift through the cloudy water.
She arches hard, instinct driving her spine up even while the ropes drag her back down. Her legs kick beneath the surface, sending waves crashing against the steel sides of the tub. Every movement only drags more of her through it, spreading the damage faster.
Her face breaks the surface for a heartbeat.
Her lips are already wrong, swollen and tearing as she tries to scream again. What comes out is a choking, bubbling sound instead. Pink foam spills from her mouth and runs back into the water. Her eyes find mine in that moment, full of terror and understanding that finally lands too late.
She goes under again.
Her chest bucks, forcing out a thick, broken gurgle. Her shoulders convulse. Then her whole body starts to lose rhythm.
I watch her skin come apart in places, watch the shape of her change as the water eats at her.
Her stomach looks like it is collapsing inward.
Her chest sags and warps as the surface layers give up.
Her hair floats loose around her head, dark strands sticking to her face and drifting away again in the steam.
The thrashing turns sloppy. The sloppy movements turn into weak jerks.
Her hands claw at nothing, fingers slipping through skin that no longer holds together, leaving red smears that vanish into the white churn. Her head rolls to the side and stays there, mouth open, eyes still staring even as her body stops working.
The water keeps bubbling around her.
I stand there and watch until the violent movement fades. I watch until the surface calms and the steam thins.
Only then do I step back and breathe, not because I'm shaken, but because the rage finally has somewhere to settle.
Behind me, Seth remains silent. He doesn't interrupt or hurry me. He stands there, letting me witness the conclusion of something that started the moment Sophie decided to fuck with me.
I straighten slowly and wipe my hands on my jeans. Then I turn away from the tub.
Some parts of me go under with her. The parts that wake up choking. The parts that flinch at water.
What remains feels unbreakable, darker, and deadlier.