Page 117 of Immoral

Tully steps in front of the man he kicked and pushes on his rib that's sticking out. The man screams, his body barely flailing against the restraints due to the lack of slack, but it's enough to hurt him further. His agonizing sounds turn louder, and tears roll down his face. Tully sniffs hard, his lips twitching, stating, "Kerosene burns slower. It's also harder to put out."

"Which can make people die quicker before you get information from them," Killian points out.

Aidan picks up a can and sets it next to me. "That's why you need discipline and precision. It makes it more painful. Isn't that right, Dad?"

Tully pats him on the back. "That's correct."

"Huh. I'll talk to Liam, then," Killian declares.

Aidan hands me a fire poker. The gleam in his eye sparks brighter. "Remember how we strung our first Abruzzos up on that tree?"

I smile at Aidan. "No way I'd ever forget that. It's been a long time." I hold my fist out to him. That kill was Aidan's and my first one. We were only seventeen, out at the sex club, and two thugs were slipping drugs into women's drinks. Aidan and I heard them bragging about it in the bathroom.

We already had a bad taste in our mouths for Abruzzos. We knew that, eventually, we'd have to take people out. Something within Aidan snapped, and I could see there was no way to stop him. Before I knew it, we kidnapped those thugs when they stepped outside the club.

When I called Papà, I assumed he'd want us to bring them back to the dungeon. I got an earful for disobeying club rules, as did Aidan. Then Papà redirected our driver to a field in Jersey. He told us to wait until he and Tully arrived. They made us string them up in the tree, then they spent hours teaching us torture techniques. Part of that lesson was how much damage you can do to a man with a hot poker stick, anything flammable, and patience. To this day, I can still see those men's faces, cocky in the club yet a complete fearful mess outside of it.

Aidan opens the kerosene can, and I dip the poker stick in it. Tully flicks his zippo, touching the end of the metal pole.

Flames burst on the end, intensifying from the kerosene until the metal is bright red and glowing. I rotate the pole in my hand, watching the flames spin, smelling the unique odor. Then I ask Aidan, "You remember how the vultures came once we put the fire out?"

The corners of his lips turn up. "The best part was hearing them scream as the vultures tore them apart." He steps up to the man I held my gun to and crouches down. He places both hands on his cheeks then slowly moves his head so the spikes in the collar dig into his neck, sending a fresh stream of blood rolling over Aidan's hands.

The man begs for him to stop, yet Aidan only laughs, continuing to do it, then screams, "Where is Uberto?"

He still doesn't answer.

Aidan turns his head toward me. "Ready?"

I sniff hard, feeling a slight high from the kerosene and what I'm about to do. I step forward, demanding, "Last chance. Tell me where Uberto is!" I hold the poker in front of his eye.

"Please! Don't!" he begs.

"Where is he!" I yell so loud, spit flies out of my mouth.

"I don't know!"

"Liar!" I scream and poke his eye. It singes, and his cries turn more desperate. The anger and distress I've felt over this situation make it hard to maintain my control. I step back, count to fifteen, then order Killian, "Turn this motherfucker upright."

Killian and Aidan flip him. Tully lights up another cigar. The stench of body fluids mixes with the smoke and kerosene. It would make most people vomit. But I've gotten used to it over the years. It's become a smell I look forward to since it means an enemy is dying, even though it'll take weeks for me to no longer smell it.

The man screams some more. The others around him tremble. Killian grabs three pokers and tosses one to Aidan and Tully. He dips his in kerosene and says, "Well, don't keep me from the fun."

Tully flicks his lighter again. Killian's stick erupts in flames. Aidan follows his lead then Tully lights his.

For the next thirty minutes, we burn them, forcing information out of them piece by piece until they're pleading for us to kill them.

Two men pass out, but we don't let them stay out of it for long. I start to worry that we'll kill them before we get any information out of them. The man I interrogate finally mumbles, "Brownstone."

I freeze. "What did you say?"

The room turns silent, except for the moans and sobs of the men.

The guy in front of me spits blood. His eyes roll, and his head bobs forward.

I hold his head and slap him, fearful he's dying and I'm not going to get anymore. "Wake up, you piece of shit!"

His eyes fly open.

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