Page 11 of Desecrated Reign

“I said…” Donnacha's head falls forward, his depleted body struggling to hold its weight. Eventually, he tips it back and homes in on Lorcan’s face. “Get fucked!” He spits the words out, laced with venom. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Lorcan’s mouth quips to the side, a dangerous sneer curling the edge of his lips. “See… we’ve been going relatively easy on ya, haven’t we, kid?” Lorcan looks my way, and I nod in agreement. “But Rohan here is running out of patience, as am I.”

Paying no mind to Donnacha’s ragged breaths polluting the workshop, I remain where I am, letting Lorcan do his thing before I step back in.

This day has been a long time coming, and as fucked up as it might be, I am here for every fucking second of it. A strange sense of calm races through me as I watch Lorcan pick up a hammer and slam it against Donnacha’s fingers.

As my half-brother wails in pain, his piercing cry cuts through the workshop, bouncing off the rusty, tin-sheeted walls and high ceilings. Maybe I should feel sorry for him, but I can’t find any fucks to give. He knew the price when he chose our father over our friendship. And the moment he put his hands on my girl, it was game over for him. We both knew it was only a matter of time. Now, that time has come.

I hope he likes this rusty old farm workshop because even though I don’t plan on killing him yet… he’s never leaving this place alive. He will pay for every mark he left on Saoirse, both physically and emotionally. Unfortunately for him, I’m not the only one wanting to collect a debt. Lorcan is out for blood, too. He might not have been as present as he’d have liked while Saoirse was growing up, but he loves that girl more than life.

Fed up waiting for my turn, I push off the table and turn in place, then slowly trail my fingertips over the farm tools laid out before me. “What do you think, Boss Man?” I peer over my shoulder at Lorcan, who’s standing behind Donnacha, hands in his pockets as if he hasn’t just spent the last three hours inflicting a world of pain on the gutless prick.

“Your choice, kid.”

“Cattle crange or bull burdizzo?” I hold up the tools, contemplating which one is more fitting for someone who tried to rape the love of my life. “Decisions, decisions.” Turning on the balls of my feet, I saunter towards Donnacha, whistling with each step, getting far too much enjoyment from his struggle.

“Maybe we should let him choose?” Lorcan grips Donnacha’s hair, pulling his defeated head up so he can get a better view of what I’m holding.

“What do you think, D?” My eyes bore into his before scanning the bruises spanning the length and width of his body. He looks utterly miserable, slouched forward, wearing nothing but the restraints Lorcan used to strap his wrists and ankles. “Any preferences?”

The strangled cry that leaves him brings me nothing but satisfaction, as does the smell of his fear fermenting in the dense air—cold sweat mixed with the distinct waft of ammonia. He remains silent, barely able to hold his head steady, even with Lorcan’s help. Unsurprisingly, I feel nothing but the need to avenge my love.

“Ro-Rohan.” Donnacha’s words stutter past his rattling teeth. “Don’t. Please. Don’t.”

The smile on my face is sinister, void of anything but pure satisfaction. “Begging won’t get you anywhere, brother. You made the bed you’re lying in, and now, I’m going to set it on fire.”

Dropping to my hunkers, I bring myself to his eye level and wave the crange in his face. “Normally, this tool is used to dehorn a bull… When in Rome, right?” I cock a brow. “Start talking.”

Donnacha shakes his head. “I don’t know anything.”

“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe, lose a finger or a toe.” The chair rattles as he squirms, head tossing from side to side.

“No. Fuck! Don’t, please. Not that.”

My movements halt, and a slow grin curls at the edges of my mouth. “Oh, you don’t want this one? I think you’re right.” I raise the burdizzo, doing nothing to hide the smirk on my face. “This one is far more fitting.” Pushing to a stand, I pry the handles apart, opening the clamp at the tip. “Do you know what this is?” Donnacha’s eyes widen as I lower the tool between his legs, sliding the opening down his shrivelled shaft. “It’s for castrating cattle. Seems fitting, right? After all, you did try to stick your cock somewhere it didn’t belong.”

His screams grow louder, piercing my eardrums as he begs me to stop.

With a raised brow, I lower my mouth to his ear so only he can hear me as I whisper with bated breath. “Saoirse’s cunt belongs to me. You’ll never know what it feels like to slip between her thighs and bury yourself in her perfect, tight pussy.” Using both hands, I push the handles together with just enough pressure to make him squirm.

He fights against the restraints, and I step back with a laugh. “Don’t worry, brother. This is a bloodless method, and it won’t cut your dick off—I’m going to let Saoirse do that when she’s ready—but it will snap your cock in half and be the most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt.” I spit in his face. “And that’s a promise.”

Peering over his shoulder, my eyes find Lorcan’s as I tip my chin towards Donnacha. “Hold him still.”

The legs of the chair rattle as he trashes against Lorcan’s hold. “Stop. Please. I’ll tell you everything. Just take that fucking contraption off my dick.”

I ease off, but only a little. “Keep talking.”

“I only have an address.” He shouts, each word breathless and strained. “It’s… fuck. Jesus, Rí, take it off me.”

“Not until you tell us where.”

“I don’t know! It’s… it’s on the back of a receipt.” My eyes flick to Lorcan, who rushes towards his bag after having the same thought I did. The address he found when we were in the basement. But to be sure, I continue, “Where’s the receipt, Donnacha?”

“It’s… it’s at the warehouse. I left it next to my car keys. Now please, take the dick cracker off.”

Within seconds, Lorcan shoves the paper in front of Donnacha’s face. “Is this the spot?”

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