"PAIN DEMANDS TO BE FELT."
The room is silent, with drops of water hitting a container filling the space.
My right arm is draped on Omari's shoulder as we both stood in the dark, watching.
Watching my next victim.
My insides bubbled with excitement as I had watched Omari strap naked James onto the torture chair. There was no way I was staining my surgical bed with a pool of old man blood.
"You sure he's not dead, Vel?" Omari whispered beside me.
I sure hope not!
"I don't think so," I said, peering closely at the man tied up in the middle of the room. A clear plastic tarp separated us from the other side of the room—I had Omari put it up. "I did not stalk that asshole for days only for him to die with nothing more than a fucking hit on the head."
"Omari, you said he was breathing!" I said, slightly panicking.
"Well, he was when I picked them up from the room," he said, scratching his chin. "When I tied him up too. The old fart let it rip while I was strapping him in."
I exhaled hard through my nose in a stifled laugh, my eyes still trained on James. It was past midnight, and I was running out of patience.
"Grab the lever. I can't keep waiting," I said, stepping out from behind the tarp to the middle of the room.
I got to the center and squatted before the man. His restful, wrinkled face made mine tilt into a wicked smile. Soon that peaceful look would morph into horror.
He would look at me like he had just met the devil himself—and I'd enjoy every second his screams vibrated through these thick walls.
The sound of liquid dripping into a container echoed directly above us. I looked up at the torture setup I had customized just for this wrinkle bag. He was going to love it.
Dangling above was a small metal bucket, and above that, a sprinkler. Liquid seeped from it in steady drops into the bucket.
Hydrofluoric acid.
I was going to burn out his ugly wrinkles.
I backed away from James, the smile still plastered on my face.
"Remove the bucket, Omari," I said, and he pushed a button, making the bucket slide away along a pole.
Without the bucket, the acid began dripping freely—directly onto James's lap.
His eyes shot open immediately, and he jerked, trying to move away from the burning liquid. Unfortunately for him, he was strapped in place.
My smile widened in satisfaction as I signaled Omari to place the bucket back.
"Hi James!" I exclaimed pleasantly, flashing a wide, friendly smile.
His eyes widened as he looked at me. "You," he said, the sweet scent of his horror mixing with the scent of burnt old flesh. Intoxicating.
"You remember me?" I raised a brow. "That's super convenient. It would've been a hassle to try jogging your tired brain back."
"Who the hell are you?!" he yelled.
I frowned.
"Now Jamie, why act like you know me just to ask who I am?" I walked slowly toward him.
"You came in—at the club. Right after…" His eyes widened even more. "Did the Chairman send you? Couldn't resolve the issue like a man, so he sends a bitch to do his dirty work? Pussy!" he spat.
I stopped in my tracks, directly in front of him.
"I find it amusing how sharp my victims' tongues get when they're strapped in. Is it pride? Or foolishness? I really can't tell," I said, circling him. "But I must say, whatever it is, it makes the torture so much fun."
I signaled again to Omari to remove the bucket. The drops began falling on his lap once more.
I watched from behind in astonishment as the acid touched his skin. It hissed—loud and angry. Steam rose as though his flesh was burning from the inside. His lap twisted on impact, curling like burnt paper.
The delectable scent of charred meat filled the air—and so did his screams.
They weren't the kind of screams you hear in movies. They were broken—staggered—like his vocal cords were trying to claw their way out of his throat.
He bucked. The chair rattled. But it didn't move an inch.
Omari had done a professional job bolting it to the ground.
I could feel his pain. It sent waves of pleasure straight into my bones. I inhaled deeply, mouth watering, eyes rolling.
I had no interest in human meat, but the fact that the smell came with pain and torture? That was intoxicating.
His pain came in waves—raw, white-hot pulses that shot through his gut, his legs, his spine.
Another drop fell.
Same place.
Plink.
"Please," he begged. "Make it stop. I'll do anything. Vitale can fucking pay me half of what he always does—just make it stop!"
I nodded at Omari, and the bucket returned.
I grabbed the old man's face, twisting it to the side. "Will you answer my questions?" I asked calmly.
He rattled his head in a nod, and I offered a tight smile.
I walked to his front, squatting before him.
"Chairman Vitale has nothing to do with why you're here. But the reason you're here has everything to do with him."
"Hm, word!" Omari teased from behind.
"Shut up, you fool," I said toward him, and we both burst out laughing.
Turning back to James, I continued.
"You are not leaving here alive," I said plainly. "Your fate was sealed the minute I set eyes on you. I was going to kill you slowly and enjoy every minute of it. However, I'm a very generous person. I want to give you a chance. A quick death. But that only depends on what you tell me tonight."
His face fell. He was probably accepting his fate.
I liked him better when he was screaming.
"Now tell me," I began, standing up, "What business do you have with the Chairman?"
He remained silent. His head dropped.
Irritated, I walked to him, my palm kissing his face in a hard slap. I grabbed his chin, pulling it up to face me.
"Here's how this is gonna go. I ask questions, you answer. Or else, I'll give you a much more painful death than your useless friend," I spat, referring to the man James stepped out of the casino with.
James's face widened in shock and fear.
I hadn't actually killed the man. Omari and I had just dumped his unconscious body in a bin.
When he finally woke up, he'd just assume Vitale sent me, like James did. And with James gone, he'd be too chickened out to make any report—afraid of being next.
I knew he was of no use to me. James was the one doing all the talking. He was obviously the one with the most information.
Besides, I had no interest in killing a random man unrelated to my mission.
But James?
I needed him out of the way to get the slot. And now, he was connected to Vitale—the mastermind behind my parents' death. He was the perfect victim at the moment.
The perfect kill.