Page 61 of Don't You Pucking Dare

The taser crackles to life in my hand. It'll hurt, but not permanently damage. Just enough voltage to make her scream.

Just enough to make Rick Kemper believe.

The taser's first kiss leaves an angry red mark on her stomach. Her scream echoes off the chamber walls, and something dark stirs in me—a mixture of horror and unwanted arousal that makes me hate myself. This is the first real mark I've left on her. There's no taking it back.

Blood trickles down my hand where her nails caught me. I shake it off, adjusting the voltage. This has to look real, but I can't risk—

Her next scream cuts off into something worse. Her body convulses against the restraints, and then she's retching, violent and endless. Fuck. The drinks and drugs in her system, the electricity—it's too much.

"Fuck!" The curse isn't part of the performance. I wrench the chair upright, tilting her head to the side so she doesn'tchoke. My hands want to sweep her hair back, to comfort her, but the cameras are still rolling.

This wasn't part of the plan. She's strong, but she's still human. And I'm still the monster hurting her.

Movement catches my eye—a black-gloved hand signaling from the shadows. I pretend not to notice immediately, maintaining my performance for the cameras. But the message is clear: enough. I back away from Lola, leaving her slumped in that metal chair, the acrid smell of vomit hanging in the air. Each step feels like betrayal.

The control room hits me with the blue glow of dozens of monitors. The Reapers stand like dark sentinels, their red masks reflecting the screens where Lola's broken form plays from multiple angles. The footage is already streaming to Rick Kemper. Now we wait.

"It's done." Noah's voice carries satisfaction. "Let's see how fast daddy comes running."

Her phone sits on the center console, screen dark and silent. The sight of her vomit-soaked clothes on the monitor makes me feel sick. The things I'll need to do to make this right—if she ever lets me is beyond any repairing I know how to do.

Minutes crawl by. Each monitor shows a different angle of her suffering. The security feed outside stays empty. No sign of Rick Kemper.

"We need to clean her up." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"No." Noah doesn't look away from the screens. "Let him find her like this. Let him see exactly what his games cost."

An hour passes like torture. She hasn't moved, hasn't made a sound. The vomit dries on her clothes, her skin. My hands itch to help her, to undo the restraints, to wash away what I've done.

"I'm getting her out."

"Touch her," Noah's mask turns toward me, light catching the intricate blood-red patterns, "and you can forget about ever wearing one of these."

I storm out of the control room, away from the monitors, away from the sight of what I've done to her. The red mask was supposed to be everything—revenge for Jackson, power, respect. When did Lola Kemper become something more important? That’s why every footstep takes me away until I see activity in the front.

Dawn breaks over the mansion just as black SUVs start flooding the grounds. Something's wrong—this isn't just Rick Kemper arriving for his daughter.

I sprint back to the control room. The Reapers crowd around monitors showing feeds from every angle. Rick Kemper emerges from a tunnel we didn't even know existed. Of course he'd know the underground network better than us.

He approaches Lola in the chamber, his expensive suit out of place in this dungeon. She lifts her head, recognition and hatred flashing in her eyes.

"You." The word carries years of abandonment. "Where's my mom?" Lola strains against her restraints, voice raw from screaming.

Rick strokes her hair, avoiding the mess we made of her. "Good girl. You played your part perfectly. Your mother's safe."

Noah's hand rises, commanding silence. We need to hear this. Caleb catches my eye, tension rolling off him in waves. Jack just glares, probably wishing he'd been the one to hurt her.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." Rick's voice carries through the speakers, taunting. He knows exactly where we are.

The Head Reaper—the one who also has beef with Rick Kemper—steps into the chamber. Noah gives me a single nod. Whatever's about to happen, we're ready.

The gunshot cracks through the speakers. The Head Reaper crumples, red spreading across his chest. Noah's scream fills the control room.

Rick starts picking off cameras, each shot taking out another eye we have on the situation. Lola thrashes in her chair, either trying to escape or warn us—I can't tell which.

Noah's on his phone, barking orders while pacing like a caged animal. Me, Caleb, and Jack can only watch. We're just pledges in a war between giants. The rest of the Reaper pledges are scattered across campus, clueless about the bloodbath about to start with whoever the fuck Rick Kemper truly is. It’s clear that this man is a psychopathic maniac. I see with my own two eyes that he doesn’t give a fuck about Lola.

A dozen armed men flood the chamber, moving with military precision. Rick Kemper walks straight to the nearest camera, his smile all teeth and malice.

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