Page 1 of Sardonic Burn

ONE

Ihave severe anger issues.

Untreated anger issues.

Which is why I’m trying my best to hold back right now. If I end up killing him before he tells me everything I need to know, it’ll only provoke the beast inside of me, and someone is bound to suffer if that happens.

Instead of allowing the anger to surface, I inhale deeply, although I barely manage it. My left eye twitches at the sight of blood coating my feet. I’m wearing my regular white slippers, though the white color is long gone.

The knife is still pierced in his thigh, and his screams are just as loud. It nearly gives me a headache listening to his weeping and writhing. He’s chained to the ceiling, hands in the air, and on his knees before me. I didn’t think he’d bleed this much, otherwise I would’ve chosen a smaller knife.

One of my father’s men approaches me with a cigarette and a lighter. They’ve all known me since I was a child, and they are all prepared for frequent situations like this.

I light the cigarette and inhale the nicotine, feeling my lungs open and the air flow through them. It’s liberating and addicting. A dangerous combination, but it’s part of what makes it so fun.

“Now—” I take another drag of the cigarette, “what is the reason for breaking into a lady’s room in the middle of the night?”

The man in front of me is almost unrecognizable.

I’m a night owl, so I wasn’t asleep when he broke the glass door of my terrace. I was freshly out of the shower with nothing but a silk bathrobe on my body.

And my slippers.

Slippers that are no longer white.

He’s an amateur, and I was able to take the gun from his hand, slam his head against the wall, and still tie a pretty bow around my waist before father’s henchmen barged in due to the noise.

And now, we’re here, an hour after the intrusion took place.

He’s bruised from being beaten for the past hour. However, these men aren’t stupid; they made sure his face was kept in the best shape possible. After all, I need him to speak.

“I wouldn’t know. You aren’t a lady.”

His words reach my ears, and I remain silent for a brief moment, thinking about how to properly handle this. Thebasement is soundproof, so no one will wake up even if I tear his limbs apart, but that is not enough.

“You’re right,” I agree with a nod. “A lady would’ve called the cops on you. I’m not that gracious—or merciful, for that matter. So why don’t you tell me who sent you, and we can both be on our merry way?”

He tries to laugh, but one of the men kicks him in his ribs. His laugh turns into a cough, his eyes filled with anger as he stares at me. I don’t like that stupid expression on his face. As if I’m beneath him. As if I’m less than him.

“We both know I’m dead either way.”

I lift a shoulder. “Sure. You just get to pick how you die. Painfully or extremely painfully. I’m not patient, either, so make your choice now.”

He clenches his jaw and turns his head to the side, refusing to speak. I laugh bitterly and push the cigarette in his eye, enjoying the thrill of his pathetic cries.

“Wrong choice, buddy.”

I throw the bud on the ground and turn to the men.

“Tear his limbs apart. Make it as painful as possible.”

The two men nod, and I walk out of the basement. His wails of despair follow me until I close the door, then it’s radio silent.

This is the fourth time someone has tried to kill me in the past two weeks.

The first time was when I was out doing my nightly running routine. I just came to visit my father for the holiday season and his manor is surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Two masked men jumped me with baseball bats, but, much to their dismay, I had a gun on me.

They were dead before they got the chance to be within breathing distance of me.

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