Page 11 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

Weak. So weak.

After hours of screaming for help, he finally realized there was no one coming to his rescue. Hasn’t he been told? No one rescues the wicked.

Not in my playground.

In my purgatory, they suffer three times what their victims did, and only then do I grant them the mercy of death. Some I keep far longer. It depends on their evil deeds. Hypocrite of me? Yes. Do I give a fuck? No, I do not. The Bratva has a code and it has never aligned with the legal system which manages to fail their civilians time and time again. Their rules only benefit the elite and the wicked.

Besides, I am doing the world a service by ridding it of this filth who only breathes to kill all that’s beautiful and innocent. Everything that makes us humans.

The fucker mumbles something through the gag in his mouth that sounds a lot like ‘I have money.’ He’s trying to negotiate for the fourth time today.

Sighing, I turn around and zero my gaze on my victim as sweat mixes with the blood sliding from his forehead, joining the tears that wet his face. Most of his fingers are lying by his feet, his dripping wounds creating a pool of blood on my white floors. “What was that?” He mumbles again, sobbing while trying to tug on the chains, but it’s useless since they’re securely wrapped around his middle and legs. “You have money?” I taunt, and he thrashes a little, probably going for a scream, but once again it comes out muffled. But then again… this cockroach is a little slow, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Looking him in the eye, I say. “So do I.”

It’s always about money, isn’t it?

People like him commit the most atrocious of crimes in the name of money and depravity.

That is why he ended up here.

Greed.

Finally settling on the razor-sharp blade, I pick it up and shift it from side to side, bored already. I feel giddy when the bastard freezes and watches the blade, afraid it might strike him. Making my way toward him, I stop, stepping on his dismembered fingers and a couple of his teeth. He whimpers, scrunching his eyes, expecting a blow. “You wronged me, Alessio,” I muttered, and his eyes snapped back open, confused while I still gazed warily at the weapon in my hands.

When he mumbles incoherently, I decide it’s time to remove the gag. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

I look into his eyes but there’s nothing remotely human there. Nothing worth saving, not that I would waste my time. “I don’t know you. P-please. Whatever you were told, it’s a-all lies.” He wheezes between every lying word.

He’s right about one thing. He doesn’t know me but I sure as fuck know about him..

Every single evil deed he has ever done to hurt others, I know and for that, he’s here.

Taking out the remote from the back of my pants, I turn on the TV behind me, right at the beginning of the tape. “Remember this one?” I say, and smile, “You marked the tape as your favorite.”

And then I watch as the realization hits him, and he shakes his head, sobbing and mumbling. “It was an order! I was following orders!” The fucker dares to look remorseful. I know better. Men like this scum don’t have empathy if they would, this tape wouldn’t exist and a little girl wouldn’t have lost her soul. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was only once.” Liar. It happened more than once. He and I both know that.

It’s cute and pathetic how he believes that saying sorry will stop me from hurting him more. From killing him. This fucker should come up with a better persuasive tactic because he’s just making me want to change my torture method. “You know what I hate more than crying grown men, Al?” He shakes his head, crying harder now. “Liars.”

“Oh, God. P-please!” he cries. “I’m so sorry. Please, you must believe me.” He is only sorry that he ended up here. He’s sorry that he got caught.

“Do you think sorry will erase everything else? Do you think it will turn back time?” I asked again, and another shake. Rubbing my chin with the tip of the blade, I exhale heavily. “Then I guess sorry means shit.” Then I dig the knife deep into his skin watching as a droplet of blood trickles down his tan skin. “On the bright side… I will kill you now. You won’t suffer longer.” I grin. “Sounds good, Da? Way more generosity than you ever showed her,” I hiss, right before I stab him in his left pectoral. The scream erupting from him could probably be heard in a different state if it weren’t for the soundproof walls that the Pakhan made me install just so he didn’t hear the shit that I do down here.

“Now take it like a man, Al. Your cries are very disappointing.” I repeat the words he once said to her. Pulling back, I stab his pelvis and it must break a vessel because blood spurts from it, and I step back, not wanting to get any on me. Fucking filthy.

Alessio screams and screams in pain while I deliver a few more stabs, not really touching any vital organs.

Then I go back to the table and take a sip of my tea, all while the tape plays in the background. Is he counting down the minutes till I end his misery? Does he believe someone will help him? Does he suffer the way she suffered for fucking years? With time though, the cries of pain that come from the tape only manage to make me angrier. I don’t let my feelings cloud my judgment when I’m down here but it’s hard not to when her soft cries are shredding my soul to pieces with every second that passes. How can anyone hurt a being so pure? How could they live knowing they made an angel cry?

They don’t…

Alessio committed a sin he could never come back from. Not alive anyway.

He touched what didn’t belong to him.

He made an angel cry.

Mine.

I have been waiting years for this moment. I’ve chased him for so long, but the fucker managed to escape me, changing names along the way. But I got him and now, with him at my mercy and soon dead, she will find peace in knowing he got what he deserved, even if it was too little too late.

---