Page 111 of Tear Me Down
“Perfect. Is he awake?”
“Not yet. Should be any minute. We lowered the temperature in the room just like you wanted, so that’ll wake him.” We walk into the elevator and wait for it to descend. “How’s Ash?” His tone relaxes, and while I appreciate his concerns of her, I can’t let his compassion interfere with my anger.
“Hanging in there. She’s in a lot of pain.”
“The baby?” he asks a little softer, and fuck, that gets me, knowing of his and Trina’s fertility struggles and how long they’ve tried for a family. I spare him of any intense glares and look him in the eyes with a genuine stare.
“Good. Doc said everything looked really good before she discharged her.”
“What about you, D? How do you feel?”
“I'm fine as long as they're okay,” I snap back, avoiding the subject.
“You're in pain too, man. Do you want something for it? All I’ve got is Advil and over-the-counter stuff, but I can get it for you.”
I shake my head vehemently, trying not to lose my shit on him.
“Nah, I'm good. I need to feel every bit of this. She does. I need to be able to work through it.”
“You’re not invincible, man. No one expects you to be.”
“I do,” I answer sharply, and as soon as the doors open, I storm out, borderline desperate to get this started “Darnell?” I ask, needing to know when he and Daisy are inbound.
“Just picked him up, about thirty minutes out.”
“Great. Knock when he gets here.” We approach the door and I’m immediately hit with the evil permeating through the entrance. I soak it in, letting his demons battle with my own before the show begins.
“Will do,” he confirms and steps aside. I unlock the door and walk in to see that despicable, callous, nihilistic piece of shit, strung up like he had my little wolf… All three knots lifting him up. I feel the wave of rage wash over me again with nothing in its path this time. There is no stopping me from doing what I'm about to do.
Besides Darnell, all of my favorite devices are laid out on the table and ready to use—along with endless water, electricity, and ways to create a fire. Anticipation floods my lungs, and now that the moment is finally here, I can unleash the nightmare that hides within my physical form. There’s no fear of what Ashia will think of me, there’s no environment in which I could be caught. This is nothing but pure sadism, and I’ll revel in it every moment that I’m allotted.
I pull up the chair Alex left for me and sit it about five feet away from him, so that in moments where I just need to admire the carnage being inflicted, I’ll have the perfect view already set up. It’s only a few moments before he starts to stir, and the anticipation only grows more, settling in like a dense fog.
The moments that I didn’t get to see of her captivity start to slither their way into my mind. When she woke up, did she know what had happened? Did she first wake up in that van, or was it not until later? Was there anything around her that could’ve possibly given her answers or hope? With how angry the wound on her forehead looks, I imagine she woke up with a throbbing head. Perhaps I should bash his head in and wait for him to wake up, just so he can feel the exact pain she did. Though I know I don’t have enough time for that, it’s tempting.
After his eyes finally open, it takes him a moment to focus, but as he spots me looming over him, they widen into bulging globes. The ropes above him give away his trembling as I stalk closer and closer to him with every breath he takes, each thud sounding like another nail on his coffin. His pupils dilate as I creep in close, only about three inches from his fucked-up face, and I can smell the fear on him—the moment he realizes that he’s really not getting out of this alive, and questions if he can even escape me in death.
“What’s the matter, Hugo? You look like you've seen a ghost.” His breathing turns shaky, and any ounce of confidence he had is vanishing at the blink of an eye. It’s as if he’s staring at the devil and coming to terms with his fate, imaging what Hell has in store for him. Little does he know, I'm worse.
So… Much…Worse…
I grab onto the back of his head, tangling the disgusting, greasy strands in my fingers as I pull—forcefully restraining him so his vision is stagnant—an unwavering gaze pointed directly at the demon he’s unleashed.
“You touched my wife…” Using my free hand, I take my knife, press it to his temple, and slowly start dragging it down his face—watching as the blood begins to bead and trickle down his skin. “There is not enough hope, compassion, or divinity that could save you now. Every mark…” I move my knife to the other side of his face and restart the process, from temple to jaw. “That you left on her body will be rectified…” As I move my knife to his chest and trace it down slowly, mimicking the same mark carved on her skin, the bitter, metallic scent of his blood mists the air, acting as bait to lead me further into the darkness. “Every scream that escaped her mouth, you will hear tenfold from your own throat…” I move my knife into his nostril and bury it in deep before I flick out, cutting the cartilage down the middle. His grunts ring out, and I immediately begin to feel the ache in my heart, fueling me to continue. “Every drop of blood you spilled…” I repeat the process to the other nostril. “Will be avenged…” In a swift movement, I bury my blade into his stomach, and my grip tightens on the handle just as I feel the serrated edge tear through his gut. I place my forehead against his, allowing my own barely restrained breaths to brush against his face. His trembling only intensifies, causing my vision to jitter with his erratic movements, and I tighten the grip on his scalp—proving who is in control here. The feeling of the small pops from his hair ripping out of his head sends chills through my body, causing me to inhale a shaky gasp and melt into his turmoil. “When I'm through with you, even heaven’s waters will not be able to cleanse me…”
Chapter forty-one
Damien
‘My Friends’ – Black Veil Brides
I lather the soap in my hands, watching as it bubbles red and eventually runs pink. The only reason I’m washing it away is so my scent isn’t mixed with his during the next part of his torture. I’m sure it would go according to plan regardless, but I don’t want to risk it throwing everything off. Alex came in about five minutes ago and let me know that Darnell and Daisy are here, but I told them to let Ashia see the dog for a few minutes before they come down. She's missed Daisy, and I needed to finish tracing every cut on his body before it was time to bring them into the fun.
His whimpers and groans that sound out behind me are the perfect symphony—comparable to white noise, and something I could easily relax to. I haven't even done much yet, only beat him and slapped him, maybe cracked his mandible before I replicated the cuts like I promised him I would. He screamed like a little bitch when I first stabbed him in the shoulder, and the two after that were even sweeter.
My wife had to endure that pain, plus some, and he thinks he has the right to express his pain? She didn’t get that reprieve. She didn’t get to scream out when she wanted, and she sure as hell didn’t get to project her pain onto something else like he’s trying to do. He’s despicable. Vile, and if he thinks this is the worst that’s going to happen to him, he’s surely mistaken.
The door opens, and the quiet clink of metal and nails against the floor draws my attention. Darnell is walking Daisy into the room, and it's clear that she's ready for some action. He made sure not to work her today, just so she would be geared up for this moment. I first had the idea when Ashia had mentioned the dogs the other day at the hospital, and I’ve been looking forward to it ever since. She's sniffing around with concentration and purpose, looking for anything she should be wary of, and completing her normal assessment. I can see the moment in her eyes when she smells something familiar, and she changes direction.
