Page 121 of My Forbidden Alpha

She clamps her mouth shut, her tears flowing down her cheeks, yet she dares not utter a sound.

I wrench her up by the hair and stand, not caring that I am dangling my child by her hair. She tries to grab my wrists to ease the pain, failing miserably.

I carry her out of the mansion. The urge to bash her into the wall is intense, but I will be patient, carrying her to my favourite play place. My garage.

“Please, Papa, not there,” she begs in fear.

“I said zip it!” I hiss, entering the garage. I lead her past the array of expensive supercars, stopping at the door that is locked at the back of the garage. She whimpers, knowing what is coming.

After all, this is her special punishment room. She cries softly,

“Please forgive me, Papa. I won’t do it ever again. I promise, Papa. Please,” she whimpers, but I simply smile cruelly, entering the soundproofed room and throw the child across the room. She hits the far wall and tumbles to the ground, crying out in pain as I slam the door shut behind me.

It locks automatically, and I roll my neck, excitement rushing through me.

“Now… what shall we play today?” I ask. She quickly gets to her knees, bowing as she begs for mercy.

Removing the cigarette from my lips, I walk towards her and stab the butt of my cigarette into the back of her neck. She screams as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air. I chuckle sadistically.

“How fascinating...” I murmur. I love to torture her because she heals incredibly fast, faster than even me. It is something I hate, yet enjoy, because she is the one target who will last longer than the rest. She quivers in fear when I pick up somescrews.

“We should never ever steal, don’t you agree?” I whisper. Grabbing her by her hair, I drag her to the heavy stained wood table, a table reserved especially for her. I yank her onto it, not caring that she hits the table face-first, or that blood is coming out of her nose. “These hands of yours really should learn to not steal!” Taking the first 3-inch screw, I flick it in my fingers before slamming it through her hand. She screams in agony, but I don’t stop. Not until each finger is pierced with a screw.

Scarlett sobs in pain, her hands now impaled with 14 screws as she cries in anguish. The blood that drips from her hand makes me extremely happy.

“Please, Papa, I promise I won’t steal again!” she cries.

“Did I say you could speak, you bitch!” I shout, my eyes blazing in rage. Grabbing her by the hair again, I slam her face-first into the table where her hands are pinned to the table with the screws. Her blood stains the already stained wooden table with a fresh coat of red.

Ah, beautiful…

“S-sorry…” she whispers weakly as I repeatedly slam her face-first onto her hands. The screws pierce her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. She tries to move as if trying to protect her ugly little eyes from being impaled. Now I wouldn’t mind ruining them, but what fun would hurting her be if she can’t see what’s coming.

Her fear before her impending punishment is equally part of the fun. Her eyes flutter from the constant banging of her head and she whimpers.

“You were made for this! Do you hear me?! The only reason the fucking Goddess gave you to me was for my entertainment! I should have been given an heir! An alpha, not a pathetic female bitch!” I shriek.

She’s silent, and that only enrages me more. I shake herviolently, seeing the bruises cover her unrecognisable body. Trying to hold back and not kill her is difficult, but I try. I mean, who will I torture tomorrow if she is dead? I don’t think that stupid Indigo would survive. It’s a shame, but she’s pathetic and weak. Weaker than this pathetic thing!

I rip her body back, wrenching her hands with the screws off the table. The scream of agony that tears from her throat only fuels me further, and I throw her across the room before I pick up a hammer and turn towards her.

My heart thunders with excitement, rage and satisfaction as I approach her.

“You useless little bitch. I think I will tell your mother you have gone to a training camp for a few weeks. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?” I hiss, slamming the hammer down on her knees. The sickening sound of bones being crushed rings loudly in my ears. She sobs silently. Trying to stifle her cries and that angers me. Although I want her to obey, I want to hear the pain she’s in.

But I do not stop. Even when she huddles into a foetal position, her eyes tight shut, I continue my screaming abuse.

“Let’s just see how much you can take! Maybe you are better off dead!” With each strike of the hammer – to her ankles, her elbows, even her hands, the screws are pushed deeper into her skin – I grow happier.

Only her head is free from my hammer. I want her to stay conscious whilst I torture her.

Her tears have stopped, and I have grown bored with the hammer. I’m breathing hard. My hair falls forward and sweat coats my face. I hate how she seems to handle it, hate that the determination never fades from her disgusting green eyes.

“You’re a fucking freak!” I spit. Looking around the room, a smile spreads across my face when I grab a knife, one I keep coated with wolfsbane. At least this takes her longer to healfrom. I approach her, grab her wrist, and begin carving long, deep gashes down her arms and legs. Slamming my fist across her head. I slash her back several times before I throw the knife down. I can see her wounds already closing up.

I need to do something to cause her more pain! This isn’t enough!

“You were hungry, weren’t you?” I ask, now dragging her around to face me. I begin stroking her hair, which is now a more deep red, coated with her own blood. Her skin is littered with bruises, wounds, and blood. She is no longer recognisable. Her wide green eyes, which were once filled with fear, do not even blink when I stroke her hair.

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