Page 65 of Beautiful Revenge

“Look, I’m sorry,” Phil cries. He’s stopped pulling on his restraints now that his wrists and ankles are raw and bleeding.

“No, you’re not. That isn’t the only image I have, you son of a bitch!” I snap. “They’re children. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as them.”

“I won’t do it again!” he cries.

I pull back from him, slapping him across the face so hard his neck snaps to the side.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Yeah, now isn’t the time for lies, moron. It’s the time for confession,” Dev says dryly.

“If I c-confess, you’ll let m-me go?” he asks, stuttering over his words in fear.

“Absolutely not. You had your chance to do the right thing, Phil,” I sneer, moving back to the dresser to grab the meat clever and mini torch. “Don’t even try telling me you didn’t know it was wrong.”

I walk the instruments back over and set them on the bed by his feet.

“Oh, god,” he cries, eyes stuck on the newest additions to the bed. Considering we’re changing the torture up and using equipment from his own home, this has turned out surprisingly well.

“Don’t worry. We’re not quite there yet.” I smirk, loving the fear radiating from him. “I want to play a little first.”

I grab the knife again, wishing I could feel his blood on my hands rather than wearing gloves. Bringing it to his side, I brace myself against the bed before sliding it between his bottom ribs, careful not to hit any major organs.

“No. No. No. STOP!” he begs as tears run down his face.

“Why? Does it hurt?” I ask, sliding it in deeper. The pain has to be excruciating.

“Yes!” he cries, and I smile.

“Good,” I spit out, ripping the knife out quickly once it reaches the hilt.

“God, you’re so hot, babe,” Dev growls. “Look at all the blood you’re spilling.”

“It’s only the beginning,” I remind him, smiling before moving my attention back to Philip. “You think this is pain?” I taunt, moving my knife closer to his dick. “It’s nothing compared to what you put those little girls through.”

“I didn’t! I—I took ca—AHHHH!” I cut off his sentence by stabbing him in the side just above the hip.

“Don’t you dare try to say you took care of them!” I hiss, twisting the knife inside him. “You only cared about yourself! Do you know how painful it is to be raped when you’re six years old? To be too small for the person as they rip you apart so badly you have to be taken to the hospital for emergency surgery?”

He shakes his head as tears run down his face from the pain of my knife.

“It’s horrifying, demeaning, and something those children will never forget. We never forget,” I tell him, anger coursing through me so much I’m shaking. “It’s the fear and pain of someone you trusted hurting you. Then they tell the hospital it was some horrible accident… and they believe it. The pain of bleeding so much you’re certain you’re going to die.”

I get into his face, bringing the bloodied knife up to slice his cheek open. “Kind of like the fear you’re starting to feel. You know you’re going to die tonight.”

“God,” he cries, and I laugh,

“God isn’t going to help you, Phil. No one will.” I stand back up, throwing the knife onto the bed. “Let’s not forget about the pain of learning at six years old that you can never have kids because of what was done to you,” I say quietly, leering down at him.

That’s something I’ve had to live with my entire life. The knowledge that I can never be a mother, that I’ll never have the chance to rain my own baby and give them the love I never had.

“Devon,” I say his name, pulling a glove off to wipe the tears from my face before they can fall anywhere and possibly leave DNA.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks gently, moving in front of me to cup my cheek in his hand.

“Can you grab the blender for me?”

His eyes widen, but he nods. “Of course.” He looks at Phil. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Be right back.” He leans down to kiss me before walking from the room to do as I asked.

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