Page 1 of Destroyed (American Street Kings 4)

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Ink

There wassomething about a man’s screams that sounded all kinds of fucked up. When he let out the agony and pain, and it was so thick you could almost taste it, it fucked with your mind. It fucked with your brain because a man wasn’t supposed to scream and cry. A man should be tough, hard, capable of swallowing pain—or at least, if you had balls, you should keep the agony bottled up inside and not fucking voice it.

Yet there was one man’s screams I hungered for. I needed to savor it on my tongue and swallow it down. The craving to hear his pain was so strong it fucking controlled me. Possessed me. And I wouldn’t be satiated until I’d extracted every goddamn cry and every breath until he would finally take his last.

But I had to give it to him; the fucker tried to be brave. For the first few hours, he only grunted and groaned, refusing to open his mouth. Funny how at first he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut and tongue hidden whenever we met on the streets. But here, I could see it in his ugly mouse-colored eyes that he was determined not to give me what I so desperately wanted.

His screams.

After the second time he passed out, he woke up screaming while I scorched the skin off the top of his feet. Nothing compared to the stench of burning flesh as it bubbled and oozed under the flame of my blowtorch, the sight causing my spine to tingle. The sound of torment that ripped from his throat was fucking beautiful, like a melody that sang to my darkness. I had to close my eyes as exhilaration rippled through my insides, settling in my chest with delight. Luckily, this room was soundproof, and his screams had nowhere to go, trapped between these walls for only me to hear.

The chains complained as his body swung from side to side. Tied by the wrists and hanging from the ceiling, his toes barely touched the ground. Blood had already started to drip on the floor beneath his feet, the crimson a stark contrast against the white tiles. It was fucking beautiful—especially with his charred feet dangling just above it.

I sat on a crate, brushing the pad of my thumb against the blade in my hand, I watched him, seemingly lifeless. But I knew the son of a bitch was still breathing. I made sure of it. There was no way in hell he’d have a quick exit—not by my hand. He would suffer, and he would endure an immense amount of torture before I’d allow him to take his last breath. Death was far too merciful for a fucker like him.

I knew this day would come. I had imagined it so many times, fucking dreamt about it every goddamn day for months. It didn’t take me long to discover where this room was and how to get to it. But I kept it to myself, not sharing with the others how many hours I had spent doing my homework, planning and plotting my revenge. While Granite and Onyx were bickering about who would lead the Kings, I was busy scheming and investigating these motherfuckers on my own since I wasn’t sure where the Kings stood in all this.

My leather boots creaked as I got up, and I grabbed a bucket of water before tossing it at the rotting snake. His head jerked up as he gasped from the shock of ice-cold water to the face.

“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

He blinked a few times, water dripping over his eyes. “I wish you didn’t do that. I was having such a good dream.” He smiled through the exhaustion on his face. “I can still hear her screams, you know? The pixie.”

I lost it, stormed forward and slammed my fist into his midsection. The chains rattled, and he grunted, swinging violently. But he merely laughed—a maniacal cackle with spit drooling from the side of his mouth.

“That just earned you a few more days here in my hell, snake.”

“Oh, I look forward to it. We’re really…bonding down here, wouldn’t you say?” His voice was soft, his body exhausted. But the fucker’s mind was still strong, and that was what I wanted to break first.

I brought my blade up to his face, licking my lips as I pressed the tip of the steel under his chin. “Once I’m done with you, there’ll be nothing left.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “She’ll be your downfall, you know. The blue-haired pixie.” He took a breath. “It’s those we love the most who end up destroying us in the end.”

Clenching my jaw and biting my lip, I dragged my knife down his throat just hard enough to let blood weep from his skin. Just a drop. “You know nothing of love.”

“I know it’s for pussies.”

I let go of his face and rammed my fist into his gut one more time, spit ejecting from his mouth with agonizing grunts. “You tried to rape your own sister, you sick fuck.”

“She deserved it.”

“She’s your fucking sister, man.”

“Oh, come on.” He coughed violently, like he was choking on his own goddamn spit. “We both know you hate her. After all,” he looked up at me, one eye starting to swell shut, “you probably see me every time you look at my little sister.”

With a half-grin on my face, I chose to ignore his last remark. The last thing I planned on doing was admit that he was fucking right.

I started pacing. “I must say, snake, this is quite the little torture chamber you have here.”

Sweat dripped from his face, his head hanging down, and I could hear his rapid breaths.

I slowly circled him. “Why keep this room hidden in the basement of your own fucking compound? Don’t feel like sharing your victims with the rest of your crew?”

Slither lifted his face, spit and snot covering his lips and chin. “Well, there was that one night I decided to share one of my victims with a few crew members.”

My chest expanded, every muscle as tight as a rubber band. “Oh, you mean the crew members whose spines I tried to carve out of them?”

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