Page 56 of Sworn to Revenge
“You dirty slut!” he adds before I can react, spitting toward Bay. I can feel the electricity flowing through my body, surging toward my hand again, and I inhale deeply, trying to control it. I can’t let the fucker see my weakness before the torture begins.
But oh, how much I’m going to enjoy it this time.
Bay
“Let’s start small.”
Pedro holds something in his hand that looks like a strange pair of metal clamps, and I’m sure this won’t be ‘starting small’ at all.
Why don’t they just let me get the information out of them first?
Pedro walks toward the tied-up Frenchman in a calculated, deliberate manner, as if each second of that slow approach is part of the torture. The Frenchman tracks every movement, hatred clear in his eyes. This is the first time I’ve seen Pedro like this—not just brutal, but like a predator, savoring every step toward its prey, loving to watch it suffer before it dies. His expression gives away nothing of what’s going on in his mind, which is probably for the best—I’m sure it’s terrifying enough to keep hidden.
He reaches for the leather strap securing the Frenchman’s hand to the chair. The snap of it cutting through the tension in the air makes my heart jump in surprise as Pedro yanks it tight, reinforcing the restraint. If I hadn’tbeen watching, I would’ve sworn the Frenchman’s hand had been torn off by now.
The Frenchman grits his teeth and spits a curse, but I feel no pity for him. Not here. Not now. Whatever he’s done, it’s enough to make Pedro like this—and that says everything.
Pedro’s grin sends a shiver down my spine as he holds up the clamps, their metallic jaws gleaming under the dim light. With chilling precision, he traps the man’s pinky finger between them and begins applying pressure. Slowly. Methodically. The Frenchman groans, his body rigid, as the first crack shatters the air. Pedro’s gaze never wavers, fixed on the pain blooming in his victim’s eyes. He doesn’t stop until the bone is crushed, the finger left a mangled mess of skin and splintered bone, blood dripping steadily to the floor.
“One down,” Pedro mutters, letting the clamps clatter to the floor as the Frenchman gasps for breath. “Nine more to go.”
Yeah, definitely not ‘starting small.’I bite my lower lip as one of Flavio’s men standing beside me hands Pedro a liquor bottle. Is he going to—
A sharp scream pierces the air as Pedro pours the alcohol over the Frenchman’s hanging finger. My heart suddenly races wildly in my chest. What is happening? This is not me.Shit.
Out of nowhere, a loud, familiar roar vibrates around us, shaking the basement room. The walls feel like they’re about to collapse, and I lose my balance, but then it stops.Am I the only one feeling this?
I glance at Pedro, who’s now staring at me, shocked. He’s broken character—clearly, I’m not the only one who heard it.
Pedro rushes toward me as Flavio’s man makes a quick call. “Did you feel that too? Are you okay?” he asks the other person on the line, but I stop listening as Pedro grabs my face, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him as his thumbs grip my chin. “I think this is exactly what happened in Jocelyn’s cave,” I whisper, so Flavio’s man won’t hear. “We need to hurry. The Guardian is losing patience.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” He asks again, avoiding my words. His eyes bore into mine, searching.
I reach for his thumb on my chin and lower his hand, holding it in mine. “I really am okay. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Your eyes... they’re flashing weird blue and purple glow,” he says, and I give him a confused look.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, looking for something to catch my reflection. But before I can turn around, he stops me and hisses, “Not now.” He nods toward Flavio’s man, and I understand—they’ve staged this entire torture show in front of them, so they won’t ask questions about us later. I nod, keeping my gaze locked on Pedro.
“As I thought—a fucking coward. One small earthquake, and you run to your bitch,” the Frenchman—clearly lacking survival instincts—smirks at Pedro’s back, and Pedro’s grip on my hand tightens.
“Don’t,” I mouth silently. He needs to stay calm for the show. I won’t let this piece of shit get under his skin—especially not when he’s about to meet hell.
“Everything’s fine,” Flavio’s man reports. “I’ll head outside to check forany damage and report back to Flavio.”
He leaves, and I know Pedro is still planning to wipe that smirk off the Frenchman’s face, so I use the hunter’s screech before he can—a sharp, piercing cry that freezes the air and sends a jolt of warning through the room.The Frenchman’s eyes turn pitch black, as if possessed by a demon—possessed by me. His body leans forward, searching for my voice in the black void I’ve trapped him in. No human male could possibly escape the hunter’s screech.
“What the fuck is happening to him?” Pedro asks, stepping closer to examine the Frenchman. “What a freak show,” he chuckles when he notices the black eyes, and I swallow a laugh.
“Feel better now?” I ask, grinning mischievously as I grab Pedro’s back from behind.
“No,” he smirks, “I’d feel way better if I could keep torturing him.”
“And I’d feel a whole lot better if we could get them to the Coral of Life and get this over with,” I say as we both turn at once when Mariano bursts into the room, calling Pedro’s name.
“Jesus, I feel like I need to go back to church. What the fuck is wrong with his demonic eyes?” he says, stopping in his tracks when he sees the Frenchman, our first victim for the Coral of Life today.
