Chapter 2
Sinister
Now
T he disheveled man glares at me with a defiant glint in his eye.
I chuckle, a dark and foreboding sound that would send most fleeing in terror.
The citizens of Arcadia City whisper my name, afraid to invoke The Carver.
Parents use me to keep their children in line—a boogeyman of sorts.
Go to bed, Timmy, or Sinister will come.
As if I would ever hurt a child.
This piece of shit in front of me, though?
He’s another story. It’s been fourteen years since I last laid eyes on him.
He was the one to take my sister from me, and now, he’s going to tell me where Limp Dick’s hidey-hole is.
He went off the grid about a year after I pulled myself out of the river, and there have been very few sightings since.
I can’t wait to come face-to-face with the monster of my youth.
“Most men wouldn’t dare look at me with such disrespect,” I murmur, spinning my knife between my fingers. “Especially not while hanging naked from the ceiling in chains.”
“Fuck you, Sinister. I ain’t telling you nothing.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “You know who I am.”
“All of Arcadia knows who you are. The Carver, Aidan O’Brien’s lackey.” His blue eyes flick over my large frame and dismiss me like I’m nothing special. “A glorified lapdog that heels when his master calls.”
I hum and move closer to him. Sweat glistens on his brow, giving away his fear. I’ll give him credit; he hides it well. It’s a testament to his loyalty to Richard—usually by the time my shadow crosses their door, they’re on their knees, spilling their secrets before I so much as lift a finger.
“Is that the only way you know me, Jacky boy?” I ask, running the flat blade down his chest. “By my reputation?”
Jack leans back, the whites of his eyes showing.
He struggles against the chains spreading his arms and legs out wide, like Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.
It seems Jack can only hold on to his mask of bravado for so long.
I wonder how much longer—and what I’ll have to resort to—before he begs me for mercy.
I have none. Not anymore.
“Let me refresh your memory,” I say when he doesn’t answer my question. “Think back. Fourteen years ago, you stormed into a fortress in the woods. You ripped a young girl out of a boy’s arms. You defiled her, strangled her, and left her body alone in the cold.”
The acrid stench of ammonia hits me when Jack’s bladder releases. Ah, there it is. Now he knows why he’s here, and the knowledge he won’t walk out of here alive makes him slump in the chains.
“There, there, Jacky. All you have to do is tell me where Richard is. No, wait. I also want the location of my sister’s grave. She deserves a proper burial, doesn’t she?”
Jack shakes his head. “You’re going to kill me anyway. I’m not telling you anything.”
A vicious smile splits my face. “I was hoping you’d say that.
” I kneel at his feet, uncaring that my black pants soak up Jack’s piss.
I take his foot in my hand and run a finger down the top.
He jerks and tries to pull it out of my grasp, but my fingers tighten around it.
“I like to start from the bottom,” I say while gliding my knife around his ankle. “I find it works better that way.”
The knife cuts into his skin and circles around his ankle.
It splits beautifully, peeling back as I go.
I ignore Jack’s cries and slide the knife up the back of his calf to his knee and cut another circular mark there.
Warm scarlet blood seeps from the cuts, the metallic tang heavy in the air.
My mouth waters at the sight, and I hum a nonsensical song as I work.
“Last chance, Jacky boy. Tell me where they are.” I raise a brow, but he clenches his teeth.
“Okay, then.” My fingers dig into the cut along his calf.
“Ready? One…two…three.” It takes several tugs, but his skin separates from his leg, leaving behind gleaming muscle.
His screams pierce the air, bouncing off the walls in a stunning symphony of agony.
I grin up at him, pleased with the noises he makes. “I’m going to do your thigh next, Jack. Unless you’re ready to talk?”
“Fu-fuck you,” he groans, his fists clenching.
“As you wish.”
I repeat the process on his thigh, followed by his other leg.
When he passes out, I take a break to admire my work.
The human body and all its magnificence has always fascinated me.
The intricate webbing of nerves and vessels, the flow of muscles, the hard-working organs determined to keep us alive.
It took me years to develop my techniques, for my knife to become an extension of my body.
I wield it much like an artist does their paintbrush, bringing masterpieces of blood to life.
It’s why they call me The Carver. Unlike butchers, who have no care for how they dismember bodies, I’m more of an artist. Each body is a piece of work I leave my signature on.
When boredom sets in, I push off the wall and wander over to the trolley I prepared earlier.
There’s no point working on an unconscious body.
I dose him with a shot of epinephrine, followed by a special little dose of something The Chemist worked up.
He’s very picky about naming things, so although he created the serum over a year ago, it still hasn’t got a name. But it’s fucking magic in a syringe.
When you combine it with epinephrine, it not only speeds up the heart, draws blood away from the skin, and makes your lungs work more efficiently, but it also keeps you conscious, no matter how much pain you’re in.
And it comes with an additional bonus—it amplifies your pain receptors, making a paper cut feel like an amputation.
Jack won’t be able to deny me now. Even if I have to peel every inch of skin off him.
A low moan spills from his lips, quickly replaced by a garbled sound of horror as he looks down to see the desecration of his legs. “Fucking monster,” he mutters, his head swinging to the side.
I chuckle and pick up a spray bottle from the trolley. “I’m still waiting, Jack. I won’t let you die until you’ve told me what I want to know.”
His back arches, the tendons in his neck standing in relief as a primal scream rips from him. Lemon juice sprayed on open flesh will do that to a man. He writhes and moans, curses me and any children I might one day have. Why does he persist in fighting? It would all go away if he just told me.
“Where is Richard?” I demand before spraying his left leg.
“I can make the pain stop.” He shakes his head, and I shrug.
I get to work removing the skin from his ass and hips.
The magic drug does its job of keeping him awake, and I can only imagine the level of pain he’s in. It’s got to be off the charts.
“I don’t know!” he screams when I hold his flaccid dick in my hand. My head cocks to the side as I rest my knife along its length. “I haven’t seen him in years, okay?”
“Then why would you go through all this to protect him?”
Jack’s throat works as he swallows. “It wasn’t for him, but for who he works for. If I talk, he’ll kill everyone I know.”
I purse my lips as I stare at him. It doesn’t surprise me to learn Richard was working for someone, but he’s the only one I care about. This mystery boss is of no interest to me. I only care about making Richard and the five men who took Wren pay.
But since he’s talking… “What did Richard want with us?” No matter how much I’ve dug over the years, I’ve never been able to find out.
Jack groans. “There were cameras set up around the fortress. A benefactor was paying for videos of the two of you.”
My brow furrows. “Videos of what?” All we did was get beaten and starved.
“That’s what the benefactor wanted,” he replies. I must have spoken those last words out loud. “He wanted home movies. He wanted to see you abused. Once you and the kid got attached, he was going to force you on her. ”
Bile rushes up my throat, but I choke it down. “So why did Richard have you kill her instead?”
“I don’t know, man. The benefactor died in some freak gas attack in London. Maybe no one else would pay the fees. These guys are very particular about what they want. They give descriptions, and Richard sends us out to match the brief.”
A chill runs down my spine, and I take a step back.
I want to place my hands over my ears like a child when Jack continues to talk.
When he describes how they would hunt at doctor’s offices, playgrounds, sporting events, and carnivals.
How they would take pictures and the “benefactors” would choose who they wanted.
How they would then kill the parents, making the children homeless and at the mercy of corrupt CPS agents.
They murdered my parents due to the whim of some mysterious man behind a screen.
All because he wanted me to fulfill his perverted fantasy.
For the first time in fourteen years, tears mist my eyes.
I swore I would never again be weak. That I would never allow emotions to prevent me from doing what needed to be done.
The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts. “But that little girl? Man, she was something else. The way she screamed when we—” I punch him in the face hard enough to snap his head back. He spits blood and chuckles. “She called for you, you know. ‘Sinclair! Help!’” he mocks in a falsetto.
Fuck my promise to not let my emotions get the better of me. A crimson mist settles over my vision, my heart rate amps up, and my mind detaches. I close off my ears as I settle deep inside myself, letting The Carver’s practiced movements take over.
I start with Jack’s dick, severing it at the root before stomping it into the tiled floor, decimating the object that hurt Wren.
I dose him up with another injection of The Chemist’s serum, watching with a critical eye as the pulse in his neck quickens.
Blood gushes from the amputation site, the hot liquid running down his mutilated legs and into the drain strategically placed below the chains.
Jack’s mouth opens wide with never-ending screams, but I hear nothing as I swipe my knife over his lower stomach.
With the delicacy of a surgeon, I pull the intestines through the slit.
There’s not much time left; with each pump of his heart, he loses more blood.
But I don’t want him to go that easily. He’s going to feel the same terror Wren did.
I handle the delicate mass in my hands, gently tugging more out until I’m able to drape it around his neck. Once they’re in place, I slap Jack’s cheek to get his attention. His glazed eyes meet mine, and in them, I see his pain and misery. Good.
“This is for my sister,” I murmur, and wrap the slippery tubes around my hands. Jack’s breathing hitches, his eyes popping wide as I strangle him like he did Wren. His body jerks and thrashes, making the chains rattle merrily with his death dance.
Normally, one of my victims would pass out from the strangulation, but the serum won’t allow it. Jack feels every torturous second, every ounce of terror his mind feeds him as it scrambles to live.
One down, little bird.
Satisfaction thrums through me when the light leaves his eyes. He’ll never hurt anyone again, and Wren now has a sixth of her revenge. I’ll hunt down the others, no matter how long it takes. I won’t rest until their blood turns the streets red.