Chapter Thirty-Six
Connor
A drian’s secret warehouse sat ahead, its corrugated steel walls hiding the show within. Inside, the air reeked of goddamn essential oils and copper, with Mason hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, the chain bolted to a reinforced beam.
His face was a ruined landscape—nose shattered, one eye swollen shut, lips split into a grotesque smile. A dark stain spread down his leg where he’d pissed himself.
“Connor…” Mason gurgled through broken teeth. “Knew… you’d come…” His voice was ruined from years of pain and tonight’s beating.
Jax leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with lazy interest. “He’s all yours, Killer. We kept him breathing, but not much else.”
I didn’t answer. I just looked at Mason and saw the man I’d nearly killed a decade ago. The man who’d tried to use Sierra as a weapon against me .
I picked a dagger from Adrian’s intricate collection, the long blade catching the weak light. “You should’ve stayed dead, Mason.”
He spat blood at my feet. “You’re still the same animal, Graves. You just hide it now.”
I stepped in close, pressing the blade to his throat, watching his ragged swallow and the sweat covering his pale skin.
“You’re right. I am an animal. But I’m her animal. And you made the mistake of threatening what’s mine.”
He tried to laugh, but it came out as a wet, blood-filled cough. “She’ll see you for what you are. They all will.”
I didn’t bother correcting him. I drove the knife up under his ribs, quick and brutal, twisting until I felt the satisfying give of flesh, the crack of his bones.
Mason’s body jerked, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
I watched the life drain from his eyes with pleasure, watched the hatred fade to confusion, and then into nothing at all.
I let him hang there, blood pooling at his feet, and wiped the blade on his torn shirt.
Adrian clapped slowly, his wide grin feral. “Short and sweet. I was hoping for more screaming, but I’ll take it.”
Jax shrugged, pushing off the wall to inspect the corpse. “He was already half-dead. Now, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
I tossed the blade into the bin labeled ’Used Tools’ that Adrian had clearly prepared. It was already filled with things these two probably had a go with, given the state of Mason’s limbs. “He’s not the one I want to hear scream.”
Jax tossed the keys in his hand, smirking. “Van’s ready. Let’s go collect the prize.”
We rolled up to the resort like we owned the place—three men in black, famous enough that no one questioned us as we strode through the lobby.
Jerry was in his room, drunk and half-asleep, but he sobered up fast when he saw us.
Jax flashed his smirk, Adrian flashed his knife, and I flashed a smile that promised pain.
We marched him out, one hand each on his arms, and no one dared stop us.
The drive back was a symphony of whimpers and the steady snick of Adrian sharpening his tools. Jerry wept openly, snot soaking through his slimy face. “She lied!” he blubbered. “Sierra’s a little slut, she’s always wanted?—“
The van swerved as Jax slammed the brakes.
He was out of the driver’s seat before the vehicle fully stopped, wrenching off his seatbelt.
His fist connected with Jerry’s face in a brutal hook, the crack of breaking bone echoing through the night.
“Finish that sentence,” Jax whispered, bloodied gold rings poised over Jerry’s remaining teeth, “and I’ll feed you your own dick. ”
Back at the warehouse, the air was thick with Jerry’s trembling, ugly whimpers. His eyes darted to Mason’s corpse in the corner, and he started to shake, piss running down his leg. Adrian laughed, the sound sharp and cruel.
“Welcome to the party, Jerry,” he cheered, shoving him to his knees. “You’re the guest of honor.”
“P-please…” He scrambled backward, piss soaking his jeans. “I’ll delete the footage! I swear!”
Adrian directed me to where his “tools” lay like a surgeon’s kit, augmented by a portable generator powering an array of horrors—a dental drill, a power drill, a bucket of boiling saltwater.
Adrian chained Jerry to a chair while Jax and I watched, enjoying the sight of him trying to fight off a heavyweight boxer.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Adrian crooned, donning plastic safety goggles. He pressed the staple gun to Jerry’s thigh and squeezed. The thunk of metal piercing flesh drew a guttural scream. “One for every time you made Sierra cry. How’s that math sound, Killer?”
I leaned against a nearby pole, arms crossed. “Add ten for each journal entry.”
Adrian’s grin was unhinged. “Yes, sir. ”
I watched as Adrian circled him, humming some song as he moved in with ‘surprise’ staples between the lines.
Jax sipped coffee from a thermos, occasionally offering “suggestions” while scrolling on his phone.
“Password,” I growled, watching Adrian’s handiwork. The word wasn’t a question.
Jerry managed to speak as more staples decorated his skin. “G-go to hell, Graves?—”
Adrian’s laugh echoed off the corrugated metal walls. He straightened up, gripping Jerry’s chin with a latex-clad hand. “Oh, we’re already there, buddy. And you’re our favorite tour guide.”
With a flick of his wrist, he yanked Jerry’s left palm flat against the armrest. The gardening shears, modified with serrated teeth, closed around his pinky in a single, clean snick.
Jerry’s scream was a wet, gurgled thing. Adrian held up the severed finger like a trophy, blood dripping onto the concrete. “One!” he chirped. “Ten fingers, ten minutes. Tick-tock, Jerry. Tick-fucking-tock.”
Jax looked up to study his bloodied rings glinting in the dim light. “Nine minutes left. You might want to pick up the pace, Adrian.”
“Nine?” Adrian feigned outrage. “You’re robbing me of quality time, Jax!” He turned back to Jerry, who was hyperventilating, snot and tears mixing with the blood on his face. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll make the next one count.” The shears hovered over Jerry’s ring finger. “Password?”
“Fuck you—AGHHH!”
The second finger hit the floor with a dull thud. Adrian tutted. “Two! You’re excellent food for my piranhas.” He grabbed a blowtorch from the table, the blue flame hissing to life. “Let’s cauterize, shall we? I'd hate for you to bleed out before the main event.”
The stench of burning flesh filled the air as he seared the stumps. Jerry’s screams climbed octaves, his body convulsing against the chains. I stepped into his eye line, blocking his view of Adrian’s grinning face .
“Every minute,” I said, “you lose a piece of yourself. Password.”
“Y-you’ll kill me anyway!” Jerry rasped.
“Yes.” I leaned in, close enough to smell the fear and stench seeping from his pores. “But how depends on you.”
That was the biggest fucking lie—we’d torture him to death either way.
Adrian tossed the blowtorch aside and picked up a drill from his assortment nearby. “Ever seen a kneecap explode? It’s like popcorn.” He revved the bit, the high-pitched whine drowning out Jerry’s whimpers.
Jerry’s eyes bulged, the pupils dilating in absolute horror. “Th-the password! It’s Sierra’s birthday—month and year!”
Adrian’s fingers froze over the drill. The bit glinted under the warehouse’s industrial lights, wet since he’d sterilized it before beginning. “You expect me to believe that?” He tilted his head, the motion eerie. “Because if you’re lying…”
He trailed off, jabbing the bit into his leg. Jerry’s scream bounced off the corrugated steel walls, harmonizing with the distant drip of Mason’s blood sliding across the ground where his corpse lay.
“Check it!” I barked, not wanting to miss any part of Jerry’s pain. The stench of burnt flesh clung to the air. Adrian’s “art project” had turned it toxic.
Adrian delicately stood up and walked over to his diffuser to add some more peppermint oil, his shitty way of keeping the air fresh.
Jax dragged over Adrian’s laptop. “Already on it.” The blue screen light carved shadows into his sharp features. “Cloud storage accessed… decrypting files…” A beat. Then a low whistle. “Motherfucker. He wasn’t lying.”
The relief was short-lived. On the screen, thumbnails loaded, grainy footage of the San Francisco fight, my younger self’s fists rising and falling in that familiar, brutal rhythm.
But worse, far worse, were the other files.
A few secretly recorded clips of Sierra in their old home—cooking in the kitchen, reading a book, sleeping.
All time-stamped from when she was a fucking teenager .
Adrian followed my gaze and made a sound halfway between disgust and a snarl. “You filmed her? Like some fucking pedo?” He drove the bit deep into Jerry’s inner thigh, this time pressing the button. “Oh, we’re adding eyes to the menu, buddy.”
“Wait!” Jerry gurgled, the word mangled by all the blood and broken teeth in his mouth. “The deal’s done! You have the password! I get?—”
I backhanded him hard enough to rock the chair.
“The deal,” I hissed, leaning in until our noses almost touched, “was for the fight footage. Not this.” I gestured to the screen where Sierra’s younger sleeping face glowed, innocent and unaware.
“You don’t get to renegotiate after showing your full hand, you pathetic fuck. ”
Jax closed the laptop with a snap. “Files purged. Adrian will check the rest.” He rose, rolling his sleeves up to reveal forearms corded with snakes and muscle. “He’s all yours, Killer.”
Adrian tossed me the shears, custom-made, with serrated jaws and a hydraulic assist. They gleamed under the flickering industrial lights, the metal still warm from the blood of Jerry’s fingers.
Jerry’s eyes snapped open, tracking the tool’s arc through the air. “N-no?—”
I didn’t let him finish.
I lowered the shears to his body, letting him get a good look at it before settling it against his crotch.
The hydraulic pump hissed as I squeezed the handle, the jaws snapping shut around his dick.
It wasn’t enough to sever, yet. The teeth bit through his pants first, then skin, the resistance like crushing a bundle of wet twigs.
Jerry’s scream tore through the warehouse, raw and broken, his body thrashing against the chains.
“Hold him,” I barked.
Jax strode behind Jerry, locking him in a chokehold, his biceps flexing as he forced the fucker’s eyes forward. Adrian crouched next to me, filming with one hand and holding a bag labeled ‘Fish Food’ in the other. His grin was unhinged. "Say cheese, motherfucker.”
I pumped the handle again, the hydraulics whining as the jaws tightened around his dick now. Blood welled around the blades, soaking Jerry’s thighs. His screams climbed octaves, a high, keening wail that echoed off the rusted walls.
“Shh,” I murmured, leaning close enough to smell the rot of his breath. “This is for every time you made Sierra feel small.”
The final pump.
The crunch was obscene—cartilage collapsing, sinew snapping, a wet pop as vitals gave way. Jerry’s body arched violently, his scream cutting off into a gurgle as he vomited down his own chest. I held the pressure, twisting the blades to ensure complete destruction, the blades grinding bone.
Adrian whooped, shaking the clear bag. “Look at that! It’s like a smashed banana!”
Jax released Jerry, letting him slump forward, the chains taking his weight. “Messy,” he remarked, wiping flecks of blood from his silk shirt. “But effective.”
I dropped the cutters with a clang, staring at the ruin between Jerry’s legs. The rage that had fueled me since Sierra’s first nightmare cooled to icy satisfaction. He’d never touch her again. Never leer, never threaten, never exist in her world.
Adrian tossed me a rag. “Wanna do the honors?" He nodded to the blowtorch on the table, its blue flame hissing.
I smirked.
The smell of searing flesh filled the air as I cauterized the wound, Jerry’s broken shrieks music to my ears. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsing in shock.
He passed out, but Adrian connected some oxygen to keep him alive. He couldn’t die even if he wanted to.
The van ride back was quiet, the rising sun painting the sky in streaks of blood and gold. I scrubbed Jerry’s stink from my hands with industrial-grade wipes, the scent of alcohol overpowering the copper lingering in my nostrils.
Jax glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “She’ll be waking up soon.”
I checked my phone, no alerts from Mara. Sierra was still safe, still mine.
Adrian hummed along to the radio, cleaning his blades with the same wipes. “You think she’d like the video? I got some artsy slow-mo shots.”
“Delete it,” I rumbled, staring at the sunrise.
He pouted but nodded. “Spoilsport.”
“Clean him up,” I murmured, wiping down my clothes now. “Make him presentable.”
Jax looked back from the road, giving me a curious look. “Define 'presentable.' Because right now, he looks like ground meat.”
“I want Sierra to see him,” I explained, watching as both men's expressions shifted from confusion to nods.
“Not like this, cleaned up. I want her to have closure. To say everything she never got to say to the piece of shit.”
Adrian's eyes lit up with manic glee. “A farewell tour! I love it.” He rummaged through his duffel bag, pulling out a first aid kit that looked more suited for battlefield surgery than basic wound care. “I’ll fix his face enough that she won't freak out. Make up, butterfly bandages, the works.”
“He’ll be pretty as a princess in an hour.” Jax drawled, but I could see the sadistic smirk on his face. Jax was always more invested in the emotional parts of our games.
As we pulled into the penthouse garage, I let myself picture Sierra curled in our bed, her face soft with sleep. The violence clinging to my skin didn’t matter. The blood under my nails, the echoes of Jerry’s screams, none of it touched her.
“Connor,” Jax called after me, his voice serious. “You sure about this? Bringing Sierra into it, even just for a call?”
I paused, considering his words. Was I sure? Was I ready to show Sierra even this sanitized version of what we'd done? I recalled the way she'd trembled in that supply closet, the years of fear and pain Jerry had inflicted on her. She deserved this ending. This closure.
“She's stronger than you think,” I replied finally. “Than any of us think. She needs this.”
Sierra was safe.
The monsters were back in their cages.
And the world would be right again. After I took a shower.