Page 1 of The Beautiful Dead

CHAPTER 1

DOMINO

“No! No more, please… no more.”

The sharp point of my switchblade sliced through the skin of his fingertips—not too deep, but enough to make it feel like liquid fire was licking at his nerves. His hand twitched and jerked with every kiss of the blade, tiny beads of blood blooming against his skin. I watched, fascinated, as they slid down his fingers in rivulets of red, weaving between the fine hairs and pooling around the chains that bound his wrists.

Muffled whimpers bled into hollow screams, the echoes ricocheting off the damp concrete walls. The stench of bodily fluids and copper thickened the air—an odor that would send a weak man running in terror. But to me, this was home.

My playground.

A place where my monster could breathe. A world of my own design, where the rules of society held no power. Here, I stood above the law that the sheep so blindly followed. Here, I was judge, jury, and executioner.

No one was safe from the wrath of the DeMarcos.

No one was safe from me.

David—Davey—Rutter was the current object of my sadistic fixation. He hung limply, trapped in a never-ending cycle of disorientation and pain. His shoulders slowly separated under his hefty weight, tendons straining, ready to snap. Head thrown back, he howled, spittle flying from his lips as one of my—our—soldiers tightened the crank, raising him higher off the floor. It gave me easy access to his toes, where I gave them the same focused attention as his fingers.

My blade sliced through the layers of toughened skin like butter. His blood rushed to the surface quickly, aided by gravity and the fact that he’d been hanging for hours already.

No matter how much I wanted every crimson drop of his blood to spill across the tiled floor, to revel in the power of watching him take his final breath as the light faded from his eyes, I couldn’t… not yet. Rutter had information I needed—information my father had instructed me to extract by any means necessary. But I had to leave him alive. People would notice if the Chief of Police suddenly turned up as a mutilated bag of bones or disappeared altogether.

Breathing but irrevocably broken—that, I could do.

Sparing Rutter’s life would come at a price, one he had no choice but to pay: a life of servitude to the devil—Federico DeMarco. I had manipulated Rutter with bribes and blackmail until now, but it was time to show him why my name was feared above all, even my father’s.

Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between my lips as I lit it and wiped the bloodied blade against my thigh. With a single nod, I motioned for one of the nameless soldiers to lower the crank, dipping his sliced toes into acidic lemon juice. Bracing my foot against the brittle wall behind me, I watched, motionless, enraptured by his suffering.

Rutter writhed in his restraints, the thick chains biting into his blood-slicked wrists. His tanned skin prickled withgoosebumps in the frigid air. A blindfold covered his eyes, and noise-canceling headphones blared Tchaikovsky’sNutcracker Suiteinterspersed with torturous moments of utter silence as I sliced into him in the semi-darkness.

“Make it stop. Make it stop…please,” he whimpered weakly, his chains rattling like some obscure puppet on a string.

A cruel smile flickered at the corners of my lips. He had no idea of the level of pain he was about to endure. All because he couldn’t do what he was told to do. Actions had consequences after all; it wasn’t like he hadn’t been warned what would happen if he stepped out of line.

The tip of his big toe brushed the liquid first. He flinched, gasping for breath, muscles rigid as the pain worked its way through his body to his brain. I tipped my head to the side and marvelled at the look of torture that broke across his face as he continued to descend.

“Legs!” I ordered.

Two of my men rushed toward Rutter, lifting the chained cuffs off the floor and securing them just above his ankles before tying them off. Now, he had no choice but to keep his feet immersed in the liquid.

Violent shudders wracked his body as both feet were forced down. Rutter gritted his teeth, blood seeping around them where they pressed into his cracked lips. A feeble attempt to hold back another scream—useless. It tore free, raw and jagged, punching out of his chest. Pain seared into each tiny cut on the soles of his feet. It probably felt like he was burning alive from the inside out. A hopeless whimper left his parched lips.

Fuck, he was a weak excuse for a man.

“He’s pathetic,” one of the soldiers chuckled, nudging the guy beside him, who nodded in agreement.

I shifted my gaze to them, arching a brow. Not that I disagreed, but he’d spoken out of turn.

“You think this is funny?”

The color drained from his face. His tanned complexion turned ghostly pale, and he shook his head with a wince. Smart. His silence was the only thing keeping him alive right now. I didn’t have time for men who acted like idiots. Working beside me was an honor few earned—fewer still survived. That wasn’t my fault.

I was my father’s son. Cold. Ruthless.

“Why don’t I tie you to a chair and do the same to your ass?Maledetto idiota!”

“N-no, sir.” He shrank back, shoulders hunched, and slipped into the shadowed corner where the others waited for my command.

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