Page 1 of The Dark Obsession

Prologue

Tyson

Fresh blood pools at my feet, painting the cold, cement floor.

Neither the metallic smell that fills the rotting basement, nor the screams of pain doing anything to me.

Being dead inside certainly has it’s perks.

Seeing people dying at my feet, writhing in pain as life slowly drains from their eyes, it’s like I can gaze right through them.

They’re nothing more than a steppingstone on my path to vengeance.

Though I must admit that this bastard is surprisingly resilient, which is a waste of time since they always break in the end.

Torture does have a certain charm to it.

It makes one wonder where John got one somewhat capable bodyguard, whereas most of the others I had this friendly chat with were just pitiful.

It’s pathetic really.

“I'll ask one last time.” My voice emanates utter calmness as the bones in his foot crunch under my heavy combat boot.

As usual, I’m dressed in all black which has its purpose.

Everything I do has one.

This in particular ensures that the blood covering my arms up to the elbows isn’t too visible at first glance.

Not that it would bother me, but others tend to be a bit squeamish. Serves them right since they bother with having a conscience.

At this point I’ve cut off most of his fingers which proved to be useless because he still hasn’t uttered a single word since I hauled his dead weight in here.

Well, his loss.

The big fucker’s teeth are clenches to the point of breaking as sweat drips from his temples, mixing with the blood from his missing ear.

Yeah, he has definitely seen better days.

But that’s what happens when you choose to work for someone likehim…

Some might admire the man’s resilience, but honestly, it’s just plain stupid. I would have made it quick and painless for him if he’d talked.

There’s no way out of here for him anyway, he must be aware of that by now.

It’s going to be a pain in the ass to wash off all his leaking bodily fluids. Nonetheless, he’ll talk soon.

I’ll make sure of it.

The background check said this guy wasn't ex-military like the rest of them. He's a Russian.

John must be in deep shit if he's desperate enough to be recruiting from the Bratva. But then again, I might have driven him to it since all of his other goons tend to mysteriously disappear.

Over and over, I cut into his bare torso, careful not to hit any arteries since I don't have the patience for transfusions to keep the idiot from bleeding out.

Fortunately for him, I recently acquired a handy-dandy little flame thrower that I’m currently using to heat up my trusty knife before pressing the glowing steel to his flesh, stifling thebleeding wounds. Cauterization isn’t one of my usual methods, but he has fucking driven me to it.

The metal chair that’s been bolted to the floor screeches under the force of his thrashing, yet there’s no breaking free from my restraints.

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