Chapter 23 Lena #2
Luca tried to recover, to raise his hands, but he was already too late. Silas stayed on him, relentless, every strike precise, leaving no room for retaliation.
It wasn’t a fight.
It was a punishment.
“Marco said he was on his—” I reminded him.
“Ten minutes,” Silas cut in, voice grunting with strain. “We heard. It’s just enough time.”
Luca made a broken sound, something between a cough and a plea, his body already failing under the weight of the blows. Silas didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate, driving him down until he collapsed face-first onto the concrete, barely conscious.
“Please…” Luca rasped weakly.
Silas stilled.
Then he reached down, fisting a hand in Luca’s hair and yanking his head back, forcing him to look at me.
“Is that what she said?” Silas demanded, his voice rising, anger cutting through every word. “Did she beg you to stop while you carved up her back?”
Luca choked on air, coughing hard, but no answer came.
Silas’s grip tightened, jerking his head back further.
“Answer me!” he barked, the command dominant and absolute.
Panic broke through what little awareness Luca had left.
“No—no!” he stammered, voice shaking. “She didn’t—she didn’t say anything. Not a word. The whole fucking time!”
Something violent shifted in Silas’s expression.
“That’s because she’s stronger than you,” he said, quieter now, but far more dangerous.
He held Luca there for a beat longer, then leaned in, his voice cold and flat.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Luca's eyes went wide.
“You stay quiet through what comes next…” Silas continued, “Not a sound. Not a breath. And I'll let you live.”
A pause.
“But you make one noise…”
His grip tightened once more.
“I'll end you.”
Silas then released his hold.
Luca’s head hit the floor with a dull, lifeless thud, his body barely responding, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.
Silas didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed the back of Luca’s shirt and tore it open in one sharp motion, fabric ripping clean down the center, exposing his hairy back.
Blood already slicked his skin, pooling beneath him, as his body trembled faintly with each strained breath. Proof he was still alive.
For now.
I felt Knox’s fingers lace into mine, gently tugging me toward the exit, but my feet refused to follow.
“You don’t have to watch this, Lena,” he murmured, giving a softer pull.
I didn’t move. My eyes stayed fixed ahead.
“I want to,” I said, the words small but certain.
Knox exhaled, then gave a small nod. “Alright.”
He didn’t let go though. His hand remained wrapped around mine, anchoring me.
Silas glanced up, catching Knox’s eye for a brief second. Something passed between them, silent and understood.
Then he reached for his holstered blade.
Metal caught the low light as he drew it free, his head tilting slightly as he looked down at Luca’s back.
His eyes tracked across the length of Luca’s spine, pausing, adjusting, as if he were recalling something from memory.
And then he started.
The blade pressed into Luca’s skin just below the shoulder, the pressure building in a controlled, deliberate line before it broke through skin and dragged downward.
Not randomly.
His movements were intentional.
Luca’s body jerked beneath him, a strangled sound forcing its way past his clenched jaw, but Silas didn’t react. He didn’t speed up. Didn’t falter.
He simply continued.
Another line. Slightly offset. Parallel.
My breath caught.
I knew that pattern.
My gaze traced the movement of Silas' hand, the angle of the blade, the spacing between each cut, and a slow, creeping realization settled deep in my chest.
He wasn’t just punishing or hurting him.
He was recreating something specific.
The same paths. The same placement. The same deliberate carving that Luca had once etched into my back.
Line for line.
Scar for scar.
Revenge for what he had done to me.
Luca broke quickly after that. His cheeks puffed up, as if he was trying to keep his screams inside, but when Silas began carving deeper, his control shattered as the pain overtook him. Luca's voice cracked into desperate, ugly pleas, and then unintelligible screams.
At first, I watched and listened to him. The man who had once tormented, tortured, frightened, and held power over me, now reduced to something frantic and weak. There was a grim satisfaction in it.
But Luca didn’t hold my attention long.
Silas did.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
His movements were steady and careful, his grip precise as he guided the blade through each slice with controlled pressure.
There was no hesitation in him, no uncertainty.
He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly where each cut needed to start and end.
It wasn’t reckless violence, but rather methodical and planned.
His breathing stayed even, his expression locked in place, his focus unbroken as he worked. There was something in his eyes, something darker than anger, which didn’t spike or flare but instead burned low and steady.
And as I watched him, I realized…
This was something he enjoyed, something he needed.
Whether it was the precision, the control, or the violence itself, for Silas…
Torture was therapeutic.
“He enjoys this,” I murmured, unable to look away, drawn in by his intensity.
“He does,” Knox said, his gaze fixed on his brother, something hard settling into his expression.
Then he looked at me.
“Does that bother you?”
I considered it.
It should have. A violent alpha, one who understood pain so intimately, who could wield it like a tool, should have terrified me. If I had known before… I would have run.
But I searched myself for fear now, and it was nowhere to be found.
I knew him.
And more importantly…
I knew he wouldn’t turn that on me.
“No,” I said, giving a small shake of my head.
Knox studied me for a moment, then nodded once.
“Good,” he said. “Because this is what we do, Lena. I meant it when I said we’re brutal men.”
A faint sense of satisfaction settled in my chest.
“You’re my brutal men,” I said with certainty.
Knox’s gaze dropped to me, something shifting in his expression, something deeper than approval. Pride, maybe. Or something closer to awe.
Then I noticed how still the room went.
No more movement.
No more sound.
Luca's begging had stopped.
Knox’s attention shifted to the body on the ground.
“He’s dead, Silas,” he said, gesturing toward what remained of Luca.
Silas let out a quiet breath. “Shame,” he muttered. “I was hoping he’d last for the final touch.”
He crouched, gripping Luca’s jaw and forcing his mouth open. His fingers hooked inside, tugging the man's limp tongue forward.
“Oh well.”
The blade sliced once with clean precision.
Blood spurted as Silas severed Luca's tongue at the base.
He rose to his feet, tucking the severed tongue into his pocket like it was nothing more than change. He stilled, looking down at the body with a strange reverence.
“Times up. We have to move,” Knox said, already pulling me toward the exit. But his brother didn't even acknowledge him, eyes still fixed on Luca's corpse.
“Silas,” I called urgently.
He blinked. Hearing my voice, must have snapped him out of whatever trance held him.
“I’m coming,” he assured me, turning to follow us.
We moved fast after that, descending concrete steps in tight spirals before pushing through a back exit and out into the night. Cool air rushed over my skin as darkness swallowed us whole.
“What about Marco?” I asked as we hurried toward the van.
Knox didn’t slow, pulling me behind him at a punishing pace. “The second he shows up, we’ll have him,” he said. “We'll track everything. His movements, his calls, who he runs to. He’ll lead us straight to the remaining omegas.”
“And when he does,” he added, opening the van door, “we'll take him.”
The implication hung heavy.
The workshop.
We climbed in, the door sliding shut behind us, sealing the night out.
As Knox put the keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life, I felt it.
A stare.
I turned.
Silas sat across from me, blood still streaked across his skin, his pale hair darkened in places, and his glacial blue eyes fixed on me, searching.
“You watched,” he said with curiosity.
“I did.”
Silas held my gaze for a long moment, considering what to say next.
“Most people don’t,” he said finally, voice almost thoughtful. “They turn away. Or they try to pretend it doesn’t affect them.”
His head tilted, studying me like he was piecing something together.
“But you didn’t.”
I didn’t want to look away.
I couldn't.
“No,” I said simply.
A knowing, faint smile spread across his lips.
“I figured you wouldn’t,” he admitted.
Silas’s gaze dropped briefly, like he was replaying it, then lifted again, locking onto mine with sharper focus.
“There’s a difference between enduring it…” he continued, “and understanding it.”
A pause.
“You didn’t just endure it.”
The words settled between us.
I felt it then, the truth of what he was saying, even if I didn’t fully understand it yet.
Silas exhaled slowly, leaning back, but his attention never left me.
“It calls to you,” he said, calmer now. “The same way it does to me.”
Another beat passed, his voice lowering further, darkness threading through it.
“If you want, I’ll teach you,” he offered. “how to use it to quiet the hunger. How to settle that thing inside you that needs it.”
I didn't respond.
“When Marco’s ours…” his gaze sharpened, finality hardening it, “you’ll be ready.”
Silence filled the space after that.
Silas and Knox didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
But the words stayed with me, running through my head on repeat.
Was I like Silas?
Did I want that?
To become someone capable of that kind of violence?
To be the one who finally stood in front of Marco… not afraid or broken… but powerful.
To make him feel it.
Every ounce of what he had done.
The thought should have repulsed me.
It didn’t.
Instead it settled into place with determination.
I did want that.
And surprisingly…
I wasn’t ashamed of what that made me.