Page 132 of Injustice and Absolution

The other Bastards have formed a semi-circle in the center of the room facing my target, my prize, leaving space directly in front of him.

Draven’s stride matches mine, and the two of us fill the gap, casting an ominous shadow over an unconscious Drew.

Where to start? That is the question. The sadistic possibilities are endless. The only thing I know for sure is this worthless, no good, waste of space motherfucker will be mangled past the point of recognition before I’m done with him.

The bulky, wooden chair on which he sits is large. The seat cushion has been removed, leaving only a small wooden block screwed into the back of the chair for those tied to it to balance their ass on. The ropes he’s bound by hold him in place, his arms tied around the chair’s back, his legs spread and secured to the legs of the chair.

The original wood finish has long since faded, now stained with the blood of everyone who has died here before him.

On this throne of blood.

“Has he woken up at all yet?” I question the room, not taking my eyes off Drew.

“No, he’s been out since we left Harrisburg,” Atticus informs me.

“Good.”

My eyes narrow on the crown of Drew’s head as I give my orders.

“We’ll take shifts in here until the deed is done. I don’t know when that will be, but I don’t plan on letting this asshole die any time soon.”

Like I told Delilah, her father’s death was too swift.

The same won’t be true with Drew. I’m going to take my time with him, killing him slowly, dragging out his pain until he’s begging for death to claim him.

Looking from Drew to the men surrounding me, I meet each of their eyes as I talk.

“However, Delilah also needs me right now. Her health and wellbeing are my number one priority. She’s far more important than this sack of shit, so I’ll be bouncing back and forth between the main house and here. Whoever is on duty when I’m gone will need to step into my shoes. You have full creative license over this fucker’s pain, but I get the final blow. Understood?”

Some of them nod while others bark out their comprehension of my given instructions. Anything else that was to be said is forgotten as Drew slowly begins to rouse, drawing our attention back to him.

His head bobs as he tries to lift it. A painful groan escapes his throat, and it’s like music to my ears. But I don’t want just one note. I want to compose a whole fucking symphony with the misery I’ll inflict on him.

Finally able to hold his head steady, he looks around, and I know the moment the ten grim expressions staring him down come into focus.

Now that he’s awake, will he bitch out and beg for his life? Or play it tough while knowing it’s over? People who prey on the weak do so because they fear their own weakness.

And that’s all he is.

A fucking weak son of a bitch.

“Is this the part where you kill me?” His gravelly voice is thick with drowsiness.

None of us speak, preferring quiet intimidation over threatening chatter. Though when I do utter my first words to him, it won’t be threats spilling from my tongue.

It will be promises.

“What, are you going to ignore me to death?” Drew jokes humorlessly. “Just fucking get it over with already.”

“You’d like that—a quick death—wouldn't you?”

He rolls his eyes, and his disrespect stokes the fire he ignited when he entered Delilah’s life.

Stepping into my swing, my fist connects with his cheek with such force, the crack of his bones shattering is louder than the sound of my knuckles on his flesh.

With a pained grunt, his head flies to the side, the chair careening on one leg before it topples over. Amongst the cacophony of hard wood hitting concrete, I hear his skull thud against the ground. The sound crackling off the surrounding walls.

My satisfaction is dimmed by the threat of his head splitting open and him dying too soon.

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