Page 114 of Mafie Kings

“Stop moving, or I’ll just take away the blanket,” Evie says, her voice perfectly calm. “I don’t prefer to torture people naked, but I will if you keep acting like that.”

Natalya goes still, looking Evie in the eyes as a flash of fear crosses her features. “Torture?” she asks.

“Did you think you could help plot to drug and rape me and just get to walk away? That Alexi would just kick you out and that would be the end of it?” Evie asks.

Natalya visibly swallows as her face pales. Why anyone would try to mess with Evie I have no idea, but I am more than happy to stand by and watch as she gets her revenge.

“It’s come to my attention that the people on this island have a problem with me. That, apparently, the way I act with The Kings bothers some of them. You all think I need to learn my place and accept it.”

She walks to the table with tools laid out on it and looks over them carefully before pulling a blade from her side instead “That’s the difference between you and me.” Evie trails the cool blade down the side of Natalya's face, like a promise.

“You accepted your place at the bottom. You knew your skill level, and you accepted that it was less than the authority.” Natalya's eyes bulge as she watches Evie turn the blade, tracing a line down her right arm, blood pooling behind it. It's not a deep cut, but it definitely burns given the sweat dripping from our prisoner's face.

She isn't screaming yet, biting her lip to prevent sound from escaping. As Evie finishes the cut down by her thumb, her resolve breaks and she starts to wail.

"Please," she begs, turning to me in hopes I'll step in. My lip curls in disgust at her weakness.

"And that's the thing." Evie says with a smug smile. "That's exactly where you belong." She starts another cut on the left arm, parallel to the first one.

"You're weak," she says between Natalya's ear-piercing screams, marking her a third and fourth time.

“Tape her mouth shut, will you?” Evie asks, not even bothering to look at me. I couldn’t care less about her giving me orders right now. I don’t like screamers. Well, not when I’m torturing people at least.

I am not a good man, but even bad men have morals. My morals just tend to revolve around keeping those I care about safe. I grab the silver tape from the table and a rag. I have no idea if it’s clean, but I also don’t care. I shove the rag into her mouth before taping it shut. She cries and pleads, but my face remains as cold as her heart.

Evie looks at me as I press the tape down tight and I swear a spark ignites inside me. Watching her like this feels like a form of therapy. She's calm as she creates new red lines up and down Natalya’s arms. I watch from the top of the cot, seeing Evie in her element. Now I understand why the guys couldn’t say no to her about Nessa.

I see why they want to protect her, why they want her so desperately. Evie’s a warrior, a true leader. She commands a room without effort. She draws you into her without even having to look at you. She is the fire and we are all just moths to a flame—flying straight toward her, not caring that we will burn in her presence.

She’s a motherfucking queen.

“Everyone here wants to hate me,” Evie continues, “but it’s not really hate. It’s so much worse—it’s jealousy. An emotion so weak and pathetic that it suits someone like you.” She lifts the blanket from Natalya's lower half, tying the ropes tighter so she remains still as she starts cutting into the top of her feet.

“I know I don’t belong at the bottom,” Evie states. “Do you know how I know that, Natalya?” She stops cutting, giving Natalya a chance to catch her breath from her useless sobbing.

Natalya shakes her head as tears and snot drip down her face.

“I know I don’t belong at the bottom because I’ve fought my entire life to be at the top, and I refuse to let anyone tell me that I’m less than that,” she says, walking up to look Natalya in the eyes.

“I have been tortured for days on end, cut open so many times I was convinced I’d die of blood loss. You have no idea what real pain is. What real fear is. You want to inflict it on others to make up for the cards that you feel you’re owed because of who your family is. You don't want to earn it yourself, but I did.”

Evie exposes the top half of Natalya's chest as she thrashes on the table. The blood vessels in her eyes are bursting with each cry, and I’m beyond thankful she has a gag because my ears are already irritated with her muffled screams. Evie gets to work, carving a word into Natalya's chest. I hold her shoulders down to keep her still for this artist to do her work.

“But I know pain, I know real fear, and I choose to only inflict it on those who deserve it.”

She wipes the bloody blade off on the blanket before resheathing it. Evie's hands smear across the blood on Natalya’s chest to reveal the word she carved into it.

COWARD is written in neat capital letters, ruining her perfectly tanned skin that’s now sallow and pale from blood loss.

“You should be thankful I left your face alone.” She pulls the blanket from Natalya's body, dropping it to the floor beside her. “Let’s go,” she says to me.

We walk out, leaving Natalya to sob as her blood drips to the floor. Her arms, feet, and chest are all covered in red. Evie closes the door behind us, then goes to the thermostat and turns it down to sixty. “She can lay there until morning. Let her think she’s going to die. Then you can kick her off the island,” she informs me like she makes the rules now.

“So now you decide who stays and who goes?” I ask with slight amusement in my words.

“She can stay if you want,” she says, unbothered. We walk out of the shed, and I grab her coffee cup by the door. I try to hand it to her, but she pretends like she doesn’t see me.

“So, what are you making for lunch today?” she asks when we are halfway back.

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