Page 102 of Twisted Obsession

52

Regina

As I stood staring at the man who’d taken a part of my soul and ripped it into shreds, sorrow never factored into the situation. I hadn’t a clue as to what Ansel had done to him, but from the looks of him, Sorio hadn’t been played with in a nice way.

Every part of this exposed skin was covered in cuts and bruises, and the outside crotch area of his pants was bloody. Based on the vile scent that had my nose hairs curling and the dark wet stain in his butt area, he’d defecated.

Even at a distance, it appeared the devil had gotten ahold of Sorio. I relished the sight of such an evil force being reduced to a sobbing heap. His sniveling cries found my ears, and I did nothing to hide the smirk on my lips or the taste of vengeance on my tongue.

Ansel and crew had staged him in the yard away from the house. Sorio was face up and displayed between two sets of metal poles: two at his head and two at his feet, each a couple of feet apart. His body was stretched by chain links that had been attached to each of his limbs and anchored to each of the thick metal poles. His limbs were spread apart as his body dangled about two feet off the ground. Each time his body started to sag, the chains dug into the flesh of his exposed ankles and his wrists and bit deeper.

Since Ansel’s house was out in the middle of the hills, any hope for a rescue on Sorio’s part was out of the question. He was displayed on Ansel’s sidewalk, the concrete beneath him.

Pain radiated through his cries. Suffering bled through his mumbled rants. His face was a canvas of agony. My gaze lingered on his every move and facial expression as my ears tuned in to the music of his demise.

I’d been taught to forgive. I’d been taught to be sympathetic to another’s pain. I’d been taught that revenge wasn’t something you sought but left in the hands of God. So, why did my cousin’s suffering give me a tremendous sense of joy? Why did I want him to know that I knew he suffered? Why did I want to see the agony on his face? Why did I want him to suffer more than he already had?

Sorio needed to experience some of the pain he’d inflicted upon me. He needed to experience the mental anguish he’d left me with over the years. He needed to know that I would be the one to see him take his last worthless breath.

Ansel broke my concentration when he handed me a plastic bottle of accelerant. As always, his eyes had been on me the entire time, waiting for me to change my mind, I suppose. Now that Sorio was in front of me, I started to appreciate my opportunity at revenge.

August had offered me the opportunity to exact my revenge before, and I’d turned him down. Not this time. Thanks to Sorio’s arrogance and twisted obsession with me, he would wallow in the hell I intended to bath him in.

Although he squirmed under the weight of his impending doom, Sorio was too stubborn and hateful to ever beg me for his life. I didn’t need him to, nor did I want him to beg. All I sought were his screams filling my ears. I wanted him screaming until I got sick of the sound of his voice. I wanted to witness the exact moment when his soul was snatched from his body and dragged down to hell.

Ensuring Sorio had a clear view of my face, I stepped closer. His eyes widened for a moment and the last thing I expected to see, surfaced: fear. He was afraid of what I would do to him.

I leaned in closer, my gaze glued to his. I gathered every drop of saliva in my mouth and spat in his face. His fear-filled eyes blinked in rapid flicks, but he didn’t say a word, knowing he deserved much worse.

At the closer view, I noticed a bloody piece of meat in his hand. If I knew Ansel half as well as I was starting to get to know him, Sorio’s dick had been tied to his palm. The sight of his severed member was a gift that dissolved the last bit of the hold he’d held over a part of my body.

He stretched his neck, attempting to watch me back away, anxiousness climbing over his distress to observe my moves. I aimed the bottle of accelerant at his body but stopped myself just as a few drops dripped to the ground.

Lighting Sorio in a blaze was too merciful a death. At this moment, I realized that I was in full agreement with Ansel. Sorio’s pain and suffering needed to be a lasting one. I wanted every mean and nasty thing he’d done, to haunt him before he took the journey to hell.

I aimed the accelerant, but it wasn’t at his body. It was aimed at the ground beneath him. The big grin on Ansel’s face indicated that he understood what I was about to do to Sorio. Marcus placed a hand over his mouth and the word, “Wicked,” slid between his fingers. A couple of low and elongated whistles came from the other guys. They stood and watched me as I prepared to roast a human, and not one of them was going to stop me.

Sorio attempted to wiggle loose, but his efforts were useless. Every move caused him pain as the areas wrapped in chain started to saturate with blood. His whimpers were a pleasant sound to my ears. Each of his agonizing groans was a healing cleanse to the areas of me he’d broken. With every fiber of my being, I hated this man. I’d never hated anyone except him.

With the box of matches in hand, I inched my body a few steps closer, ensuring he had a clear shot of me.

“I’m sorry, Regina,” stammered over his chapped lips, the sound faint in my left ear. It was a lot more than I expected from such an evil man, but it was too late. If he weren’t here facing his death, he’d have done unimaginable things to me by now.

His unexpected apology was the shock of the century. Sorio had been broken, but like he’d promised, Ansel had left him with enough mental focus that he understood what I was about to do to him.

His apology was not accepted. It meant nothing. He could spend ten lifetimes making up for what he’d done, and it would never be enough. I didn’t say a word to him. I wasn’t going to taunt him in his misery as he’d done to me.

The struck match sounded as the flame flickered past my gaze that remained aimed at Sorio’s wide tortured eyes. I brought the match up so that he could see the flame and would know what was coming. I tossed the match, and the fire ignited before it had even struck the saturated ground.

The flames licked at his back and legs, making him twitch and flap about as the chains clinked and his movement rocked the thick poles that suspended him above the ground.

The heat and flames were high enough to snatch at his clothes before they’d started to catch at certain spots. When the flames started to kiss his flesh, his whimpers grew into agonizing cries. The fire ate at his epidermis, burning hair and destroying his top layer of skin.

Sorio’s cries were those of the desperate. The cries of the tortured. The cries of the beaten and destroyed. They reminded me of my own cries when he’d unmercifully raped me, and the many times he’d beaten me bloody and left me scared and helpless.

His wailing screams didn’t come until I aimed and squeezed more of the accelerant under his body, refusing to let the flames die beneath him. The screams were loud but rang hollow in my ears. His suffering was a horrific sight to witness, much like the way I’d struggled and screamed and pleaded for mercy. I’d not been given mercy, and neither would he.

I watched without remorse as the fire bit into his dermis, the denser tissue where his blood vessels would pop from the extreme heat, his sweat glands would burn to a crisp, and his hair follicles would dehydrate before cracking into pieces. His nerve endings would deliver maximum amounts of pain as they withered and fried before the heat touched the rest of the nerves waiting below.

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