Page 31 of Saviors

A crush of people gathered in the space. Fluorescent lights shined off the concrete walls and floors, making the hungry crowd look garish. Dark stains covered the ground; they could either be piss or blood. It was impossible to tell.

But it did nothing to dampen the excitement in the room. An electric energy hung in the air. The buzz bounced along my skin. You could almost reach out and touch it.

It was a specific feeling. The aura of brutality. The hunger for death.

Crowds gathered around three rings watching man’s most primal act; kill or be killed.

Two fighters faced each other in each. Guys, girls, teenagers, there was only one rule; consent. You knew exactly what you were stepping into. There was no guarantee you’d step out. The stakes were high and the money better.

Women in skintight leggings and yellow tops moved through the rabid throng with their hands in the air. People captured their attention and placed bets. Cash flowed as easily as alcohol down here.

A few spectators caught my eye as I walked by. Some mouths opened in shock to see me outside the ring. Others looked on with hungry gazes. Lust or rage, I didn’t care. The debt collectors didn’t give me a second glance; my employees never did. They knew all the rumors weren’t true.

That the tales of my bloodthirsty nature were exaggerated. At least off the mats. On them, I was undefeated. Ruthless.

I needed the release. Needed to feel the crunch of bones. The splatter of blood. I relished the screams of pain.

It was sick. Twisted. Wrong, but I’d long stopped analyzing it.

Ordinarily, I’d be in the center ring, taking on whatever asshole bet on beating me that day. They never did, and they never learned. They kept coming.

But a random fight wouldn’t satisfy me tonight. Not when the demon in me had its claws in my heart. Its rage would only be sated by one person.

I moved through the crowd until I was entering a door to the right of the bar. If I continued straight, it would take me to the locker rooms and restrooms. Instead, I went left. Through another door, another left turn until I was in the bowels of the building; standing in front of a steel door.

It wouldn’t be easy to stumble across this place. You had to know where you were going. Had to know what you were looking for.

The steel clanked together as I rolled it open. The man started to rock in the chair we’d tied him to. It creaked under his weight as he attempted to get free.

His once white pants were stained yellow with piss. Beads of sweat slide off his fat face, discoloring his shirt. His wrists and ankles were red and raw from the rope.

Muffled noises came from behind the fabric we’d wedged into his mouth. The words were indiscernible to me. But his distress was clear to see.

It washed over me like a warm shower. Comforting. Soothing. Necessary.

“Simon. Simon. Simon.” I sighed as I stepped into the room, rolling the door closed behind me. It was unlikely anyone could hear us over the cheers, but you could never be too careful. The confinement would only fuel his fear.

Just like it had for her.

A red tinge coated my vision as I stared at the piece of shit in front of me. “What am I going to do with you?”

His nostrils flared with each strangled breath. He shook his head as if he could command me to stop. But I didn’t take his orders.

My footsteps echoed around the room as I walked towards him. He flinched as I got closer, pulling a chuckle from deep in my chest. “Don’t be so eager, Simon. We’re only just beginning.”

The rocking of his chair started again as I moved to the wall beside me. I bent down to pick up the hose. We had it for easy cleanup. But tonight I had a different idea.

“You hurt my belladonna. Made her want to harm herself. You have to pay for that.” I turned the knob and water sprayed from the end. I kept turning until it was as hot as it could go. Until I could see the steam. “You need to suffer like she suffered.”

He became frantic, shaking his head vigorously as if he could make me stop, but I was already lifting the hose. His muffled screams raced down my spine as the water splashed across his face. It turned his pale skin pink in an instant.

I kept going. I held the stream to him until his eyes bulged from his head. Until I knew, the fabric was soaked, and he was slowly drowning.

Even then, I didn’t stop. I watched pink turn into red turn into blisters turn into blood. His body was tainted with the color. His white shirt was stained with it.

The material became transparent, showing dark ink on his chest. It was a centipede with a hundred delicate inked legs. It seemed out of place. He had no other visible tattoos. He wasn’t the kind of guy that would have them. Too concerned about the image he presented to the world so it could hide the monster inside.

But my mind was too focused on the torture to think more about it. I kept picturing Violet. I saw her sitting naked at the bottom of the tub. Saw her raw skin. Her lifeless eyes. Heard her sobs and pleas. Only knowing he still needed to suffer made me stop.

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