"Some sins taste like honey, but they rot the soul like poison."
The man's eyes were fixed on mine, still wide with shock.
"Are you gonna talk or…" I raised my hand toward Omari.
"I will! I will!" he cried, and I let go of his face, stepping back.
"For years, I've worked with Yosemite—decades, even—back when it was still just an amateur mafia group," he said with a scowl.
I could sense the hate in his voice. And ordinarily, the enemy of my enemy should be a friend.
However, I had already marked this "friend" as prey.
And it's far too late to kiss and make up.
"I helped him," James continued. "That sly old man. While he fronted as the untouchable mafia boss, I did his dirty work. I killed…"
His breath caught in his throat. I shot him a look, urging him to continue.
"I killed people. Poor, innocent, unsuspecting people. And w—we sold their organs on the black market."
So that was what Vitale did before building his corporation? That was where most of their money came from?
I clenched my fist in anger. I knew the Yosemites were into shady business, but this was brutal.
"Did you have fun?" I asked. "When you took the lives of innocent souls every day, sending most of them to Hell for committing petty sins—did you fucking enjoy it?!"
I yelled, punching him in the face, his nose snapping under my fist. I knew what it was like to die too soon. To be damned. To have no way out of eternal suffering.
And although I was lucky enough to be given a way out, it came with a condition:
Bring back the people who sent me in.
I could never escape Hell. Not really. Not ever.
For the first time since I came back, I felt the frustration of my situation bubbling inside me. Screw whatever promise I made. I was going to make sure this bastard died exactly how I wanted.
Since he enjoyed sending souls to Hell, I was going to give him a little preview. The same torture I felt—right here on Earth. And when he finally lands down there, I'll make sure he's in the same pit Omari and I were in.
Drowning in acid for the rest of eternity.
He spat blood on the floor and looked up at me.
"It's not about fun! It's never about fun!" he shouted, baring his bloodied teeth. "This world is a jungle. Only the lions—the ones willing to stay strong and trample the weak—survive."
A sinister smile curled on my lips. It's cute how he thinks of himself as "strong," when in reality, he's just another pawn in the grand scheme of things.
Totally not worth wasting my time over. I need my beauty sleep.
I cracked my neck and stepped closer to him.
"You may have been the lion out there," I said, "but within these walls? You're just another prey. Another damned soul I sentence to Hell."
"Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Who the hell are you to decide where my soul goes?"
"The Heiress of Hell," I answered with a smirk, lifting my palm to the air. Fiery particles danced, materializing in my hand—shaping into my dagger.
I didn't even know I could do that.
But I was too angry to care.
I bent toward him, grabbed his jaw, and reached into his mouth.
My blade sliced through his tongue like butter. Smooth. Precise. Until I cut every tissue—his struggles and screams fueling me like fire.
"There." I held up the bloodied meat in my hand. "A souvenir. To remember you by."
He screamed something, but I couldn't make out the words.
I wasn't even curious.
I walked away, back behind the plastic tarp, and took a seat.
"Don't miss me too much, James. You'll see me again. In Hell."
The bucket shifted, and Omari pulled the lever, turning the sprinklers on. The acid poured down onto him in a steady stream.
I watched in pure satisfaction as he struggled, strapped down, writhing against the pain.
Eventually, everything began to melt. His skin. Most of his bones. Even the wooden chair.
I turned to Omari, now standing beside me.
"Did you get rid of the cameras?"
"Surprisingly, there were none. Not in the VIP lounge, and not even in the main floor."
So private, for such a public place. No wonder Vitale agreed to meet him there.
I knew Vitale was going to kill James. I could tell from his tone. And the fact that I got to him first?
It warmed my heart.
By the time Vitale finds out James is dead—which I know will be soon—he'll be confused. Wondering who else would go after the old man. Who else could've wanted him dead?
His pride will take a hit. And the mere thought of that made me giddy.
Working in their corporation? That was just another step. A way to get firsthand information.
Information I'll use to push that smug bastard to the edge.
Him, and his son, Carter.
I'll drive them both to their breaking points. Twist their minds until they unravel piece by piece.
And then, I'll kill them.
Not the way I killed my first two victims.
Not even the way I'll kill the next.
No.
Vitale and Carter's deaths will be special.
Sensual, even.
Intimate.
Painful.
I'll give them a kind of torment even Hell couldn't dream of. One so intense that, when they finally land down there, they'll still dread me more than they fear the Devil himself.
"Are we just going to let this slide?" Omari asked. "This trafficking… are we going to ignore it?"
I stayed quiet, not having an answer.
My mission was vengeance.
I wasn't here to play the hero.
I only got emotional a few minutes ago because I was reminded of my own death. Of my suffering in Hell.
I smiled at him.
"You seem to forget we're the villains, Omari. And I'll never pretend to be otherwise. My mission doesn't concern saving lives."
He nodded.
Now that the thrill of the kill had faded, the harsh chemical scent began to choke the air.
I looked up at Omari, raising my arms toward him.
"I'm exhausted, Omar. Take me out of here."
He picked me up immediately, turning toward the exit.
As he carried me, I took one last glance at the pool of blood and melted bone.
"Tsk. Such a shame."
"What is?" he asked.
"That torture chair," I said. "It's all melted. And It did nothing wrong."