Chapter Thirty-Six
XADEN
The address Alex sent is an industrial building on the outskirts of Hollow Hills. This is his turf, me coming here without more of my men is a gamble, this is a move of trust on my part. The area is abandoned. Perfect for what we have in store..
Ken drives us there in silence. When we arrive, there are already several vehicles outside. I start to wonder if this is a set up but quickly squash that thought.
We head inside.
The building is exactly what I expected, concrete floors, exposed beams, drainage grates in strategic locations, excellent acoustics for screaming.
Alex Denver is waiting in the center of the main room.
Up close, without the chaos of the extraction, I’ll admit he's even more impressive. This guy has built a reputation for himself, spanned across the country—maybe even the world. His eyes have seen everything and been impressed by nothing.
A predator in every sense of the word.
Just like me.
It’s like we can recognize the animal inside each other, our beasts calling to the other.
This is a first for me, I’ve never been in the same room with someone who likes to take their time with their kill and make an art out of it.
Excitement about getting to see someone else's work flows through me. Normally I’m a greedy son of a bitch and I don’t share my toys but tonight, I’m feeling generous.
Beside him, Fiona is strapped to a chair.
Conscious now. Gagged. Eyes wide with fear.
The terror on her face is like a song, sweet and soothing. My mouth waters with hunger, not for subsistence, for blood.
Several of Alex's men are positioned around the room, watching, waiting, ready to assist if needed.
“Devlin,” Alex says, his voice a low rumble. “Glad you could finally join us.”
“Wouldn't miss it,” I say, walking closer to Fiona.
She sees me and starts struggling against the restraints.
I smile at the bitch and make sure to bare my teeth.
“Remember what I promised you earlier?” I ask conversationally.
“You showed me surveillance footage earlier. Threatened to kill my fairy. Locked me in a fucking cage.” I lean in close enough that she can see every detail of my face. “That was a big fucking mistake.”
Behind me, I hear Cas shifting on his crutches.
“So you're Alex Denver,” he says, and his voice is cold. Hard.
Alex turns to look at him, and something passes between them. Recognition. Acknowledgment. Anger.
“Caspian,” Alex says.
“Don't,” Cas snaps. “Don't say my fucking name like you know me. Like we're family.”
“We are family,” Alex says calmly. “Same blood.”
“I had no fucking idea you even existed,” Cas shoots back, the tension in the room ratchets up. Several of Alex's men shift, hands moving toward weapons.
“I was protecting you,” Alex says.
“Bullshit,” Cas snarls. “You’re a fucking asshole, hiding in the shadows acting like some savior, you’re not my anything!”
“You are where you are because of me,” Alex says, his voice hardening. “I kept you alive and safe for years!”
“I kept myself alive!” Cas roars.
“How’s that working out for you?” Alex counters.
“Fine, until you showed up.” Cas shouts. “You think you can—” He stops, jaw clenched. “You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you. We're not family. We're nothing.”
He turns to leave, awkward on the crutches.
“Cas,” Alex calls.
“Go to hell, Bitcher,” Cas throws over his shoulder, I bite back my smirk. Looks like Alex is going to have a hard time connecting with Caspian. Good, Cas needs to make him grovel. Alex knew about him for years and still never came for him.
He doesn’t leave though, just hobbles to the far side of the room and leans against the wall, glaring at Alex.
I watch him watch Alex.
That's the thing about Caspian Vought that most people miss, he thinks his face is unreadable.
It isn't, not to me, not after years of standing beside him in rooms where reading people was the difference between walking out and not.
He is doing the thing he always does when he's cataloguing someone, the slight forward lean, the eyes moving in that specific pattern, not threatening, not scanning for exits, just taking inventory. Learning.
Alex is working. Unhurried. Precise. The way he holds himself at the table, contained, quiet, every movement deliberate is the way Cas holds himself in a fight. The same economy. The same quality of stillness that other men mistake for coldness because it leaves no room for performance.
Cas's jaw is tight.
He sees it too.
I say nothing. It isn't my conversation to have. But I file it, the particular expression on Caspian's face as he watches the brother he won't claim, the way his eyes track and can't stop tracking, the war between fury and something that looks uncomfortably like recognition.
Whatever happens between them from here, it starts tonight in this room whether Cas is ready for it or not.
Still here. Still wanting to watch. Still family, whether he admits it or not.
Silence falls.
“Family drama aside,” Alex says, turning back to Fiona, “we have work to do.”
He pulls out a case of tools—surgical steel, pristine, and fucking beautiful.
Scalpels, bone saws, pliers, needles. Everything needed to take someone apart piece by piece.
I feel excited, I never fucking get like this but seeing his tools, has me wanting to beg him to let me go first and play with his toys.
I make a mental note to upgrade my tool box, after seeing his I’m glad I didn’t bring any of mine.
“Where do you want to start?” Alex asks me.
I study Fiona, who's trying to scream through the gag. Her eyes are wild with terror. She knows what's coming and knows what men like us are capable of. When her eyes lock with mine, I see the shift. She knows she’s looking death in the eyes and there is no escape for her. She’ll fucking die in this place.
“Her fingers,” I say. “Then her lips. Then we see what else she's willing to give up to make it stop.”
“Solid plan,” Alex agrees.
He selects a pair of medical pliers, the kind designed for removing teeth, but they work just as well on other things.
“You want to do the honors?” he asks. “Or should I?”
“You start,” I say calmly, I don’t want to appear too eager. “I want to watch her face.”
Alex moves to stand behind Fiona, and one of his men comes forward to hold her hand flat against the armrest. She's thrashing now, trying to break free, muffled screams coming through the gag. She’s the head of the CIA, she’s used to having protection around her at all times but now, she’s all alone with no back up, no badge to hide behind and she’s all out of fucking blackmail.
“Shh,” Alex says, almost gentle. “Fighting just makes it worse.” He positions the pliers around her pinky finger at the first joint. “This is for threatening those I care about,” he snarls. “For thinking you could use the Denver Kings. For believing you were untouchable.”
He squeezes.
The sound of bone crunching is beautiful.
Fiona's scream—even muffled—is music.
Alex pulls, twisting slightly, and the finger comes away at the joint. Blood pours from the stump. He drops the severed piece into a metal tray with a wet plop. The sight of the severed pinky and the blood almost makes me groan out loud.
“One down,” he observes. “Nine to go.”
Fiona is sobbing now, her whole body shaking. We haven’t even started and she’s already cracking, pathetic bitch. She put on a good front when she was surrounded by her guard dogs but now, she’s stripped bare and all alone.
It’s amazing how different people can act when they have an army surrounding them, they’re filled with a false sense of power. Fiona thought she was untouchable, that the badge somehow made her out of reach of us.
“Your turn,” Alex says, stepping back.
I select a scalpel from his case and move to stand in front of her so she can see me.
“The devil wears many faces, Deputy Director,” I tell her. “Today it’s my face, mine will be the last thing you ever fucking see before I send your worthless ass to hell.”
I position the scalpel at the corner of her mouth.
“You thought you could use her?” I ask. “You wanted to hurt her, didn’t you? Let me show you what that feels like.”
I cut.
Slowly. Carefully. Carving along her lips.
The blade is sharp—clinical-grade—and it slices through flesh like butter.
Blood pours over my hands, warm and slick.
Fiona is making sounds I've never heard before, wet, garbled, primal.
I peel the upper lip away from her face in one neat piece, examining my work.
Perfect.
I tuck it into my pocket carefully.
“This might be my favorite pair,” I tell her. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they go in my treasure jar.” I move to the lower lip, repeating the process.
More blood. More screaming. More beauty.
When I'm done, Fiona's lipless mouth is gaping obscenely, teeth fully exposed, blood running down her chin. This is the part I love most about taking the lips, seeing their faces without them. For me it’s like looking at a woman without makeup, you see the real person beneath the mask.
“She's in shock,” one of Alex's men observes.
“Give her a stimulant,” Alex orders. “Keep her conscious. We're not done by a long shot. I want her to feel everything.”
The man produces a syringe, injecting something into Fiona's neck. Her eyes, which had started to glaze over, snap back into focus. The agony returns in full force.
“Much better,” Alex says. “Now. Let's talk about what you know.”
He removes the blood soaked gag. Fiona tries to scream, but without lips, the sound is wrong. Distorted. It sounds almost maniacal and I fucking love it.
“Names,” Alex says. “Every CIA operative in your network. Every black ops operation you've run. Every piece of leverage you have on anyone. Start talking.”
“F-fuck you,” Fiona tries to say, but without lips, it comes out garbled.
“Wrong answer,” I chirp happily as I select another tool, a pair of needle-nose pliers and switch out the blade.
“Let's try the other hand,” I suggest. “See if that helps her memory.”