Page 69 of Justice

He chuckles and pushes open a door that leads to another room filled with remade antique pieces.

"What the fuck is this shit?” he asks, and I can hear the crack in his voice.

I walk over to him, gripping his face so he can’t look away. “Oh this? I have been planning on the way I’m going to inflict torture in the most painful way possible, since the moment I found out someone hurt Elle.”

“Konrad, reckon you could keep him alive long enough for us all to have some fun?” my dad asks Konrad.

The door to the basement slams open and in walks Smiley, my grandpa, who’s been gone on a trip. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t miss the fun.”

Then behind him is Zach, Tiana, Shaylin, and Butcher.

I walk to the wall where I have some of the smaller tools hanging, picking up a smile device. “Ahh, the pear of anguish. Did you know you can use these in multiple different areas? But I have a specific one in mind for you. Let’s unclothe this fucker.”

Derek and Reid grab Evans, their hands rough as they rip away his clothing, stripping him naked. Evans struggles against their grip, whimpering pathetically, but he's no match for their strength.

Once he's bare, they force him down onto a steel table, the metal cold against his skin. Thick leather straps bind his wrists and ankles, immobilizing him. Evans's chest heaves with panicked breaths, his eyes wide with terror as he stares up at the men surrounding him.

I approach slowly, the choke pear glinting menacingly in my hand. Evans's gaze fixes on it, his face paling as realization dawns.

"Please, no… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" he babbles, his voice high and reedy with fear. "I'll do anything, please don't…"

"Shut the fuck up," I growl, backhanding him across the face. Blood sprays from his split lip. "You lost the right to beg for mercy the second you laid your filthy hands on Elle."

The other men gather around the table, their expressions hard and pitiless. Konrad steps up beside me, his dark eyes glittering

The table that they put him on just happens to be the rack, so they turn him around with his ass up in the air.

I nod to Konrad. "Make sure this bastard doesn't pass out too quickly. I want him to feel every moment."

Konrad gives a grim smile as he picks up a scalpel. "Oh, he will. I'll make sure of that."

I turn back to Evans, relishing the abject terror in his eyes. "You know what this is?" I ask, holding up the pear. "It's called the pear of anguish. A nasty little device used back in the Middle Ages. They'd stick it up the victim's ass, or sometimes down their throat, then slowly crank it open. The metal petals expand, tearing the insides apart bit by bit."

Evans whimpers, renewing his futile struggles against the restraints. I chuckle darkly.

"But we've made some modern adjustments. See, I had this one custom-made, just for you. The petals are serrated, like a rusty saw blade. And we've coated it with capsaicin—that's the active ingredient in chili peppers. Burns like hell on contact."

I step between his splayed legs, pressing the tip of the pear against his ass.

Evans's eyes bulge with horror as he feels the cold metal press against his exposed flesh. He writhes on the table, begging incoherently for mercy. But there will be none. Not after what he did to Elle.

I lean in close, my voice a menacing whisper in his ear. "This is just the beginning, you sick fuck. By the time we're done with you, you'll be begging us to end your miserable existence."

With a cruel twist of my wrist, I force the pear inside him. Evans screams, his back arching off the table as the metal petalsstretch him open. I crank the handle slowly, relishing each agonized wail that tears from his throat.

The capsaicin ignites an inferno inside him, the burn intensifying with every movement. Tears stream down his face, mixing with the blood and spittle from the beating he took at the hospital.

Blood runs in rivulets down Evans's thighs, pooling on the table beneath him. His screams echo off the basement walls, raw and animalistic.

The other men watch impassively, their faces hardened masks of cold fury. Mason steps forward, a blowtorch in his hand. He turns it on, pointing it toward Evans.

"Let's see how loud he squeals when we apply a little heat.”

Mason brings the flickering blue flame of the blowtorch close to Evans's lower back, just above where the pear protrudes. Evans's screams reach a new, frenzied pitch as he feels the searing heat blister his skin. The smell mingles with the coppery tang of blood, creating a stomach-churning miasma of burning flesh.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Mason snarls, moving the torch slowly up Evans's spine. Angry red welts and charred black patches mark its path. "Not when you're the one being violated, helpless to stop the pain."

Evans babbles incoherently, his words lost in the guttural howls tearing from his raw throat. His body convulses, straining against the unyielding leather bindings.

---