Simon's eyes snapped open, the sharp sting of blood crusting his lashes. Darkness swallowed the space around him, thick and suffocating. His wrists were bound behind the cold metal of a chair, and duct tape sealed his mouth, sticky against dry skin.
His heartbeat roared in his ears.
Where the hell am I?
Flashes of memory cracked through his skull, walking out of his office, smug, victorious. Then pain. Blinding pain. A blow to the back of his head. Silence. Black.
I've been kidnapped.
A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat. Who would dare touch him. Simon Blake, one of the richest CEO, untouchable, feared? Rage churned beneath his skin, burning hotter than the fear he refused to acknowledge.
He yanked against the restraints, but they didn't budge. The silence was too clean. Not random. Not street thugs.
This was personal.
Simon's eyes darted wildly, searching the dark.
Who did this?
What do they want?
How long before they come back?
A door creaked open somewhere beyond the black, and a faint echo of footsteps approached,slow, deliberate.
His body tensed.
Someone was coming.
And for the first time in years...
Simon was afraid.
The footsteps stopped just beyond Simon's blurred line of sight. Then the scraping sound of metal against concrete. A chair. Someone had pulled up a chair and sat down, calm as death.
Simon squinted into the shadows. The figure was shrouded in darkness, but unmistakably male. Poised. Powerful.
A voice, cold and smooth as glass, cut through the silence.
"Remove the duct tape," a deep voice ordered, calm and cold.
"Yes, boss."
The man approached, then ripped the tape off without mercy. Simon howled as skin tore from his face.
"Fuck! Who the hell are you?!" he shouted, voice hoarse, fear bleeding into rage.
The figure leaned in, face still hidden in shadow.
"I don't know you," Simon growled. "Why are you doing this?!"
A pause. Then the man spoke again.
"You don't know me, Simon. But I know you."
He stood slowly, voice coated in venom.
"You touched something that belongs to me."
And just like that, Simon's blood ran cold.
---
"W-what do you mean?" Simon stammered. "I don't even know you! How could I touch what belongs to you?"
The man didn't reply. He sat in silence, his aura heavy and suffocating.
Then, calmly, too calmly,.he asked, "How did it feel?"
Simon frowned. "What?"
"I said," the voice sharpened, "how did it feel?"
Simon blinked rapidly. "What the hell are you talking about? Look, if it's money you want, just say it, no need to-"
SMACK. A sharp sting exploded across Simon's face.
"Speak like that again," the man growled, "and I'll break more than your pride."
Simon's heart pounded, but he tried to sound fearless. "You dare hit me?! Do you even know who I am?! I'm Simon Blake, I could buy you if I wanted to!"
Another slap landed. This one harsher, violent enough to make stars dance in his vision.
He whimpered, cheeks burning. "I-I don't know what this is about... Make him stop!"
The man scoffed. "Then answer me how did it feel when you kissed her?"
Simon swallowed hard. "Kissed who?"
The man leaned forward, voice now a whisper laced with venom.
"Ariel."
Simon's eyes widened. Ariel?
"You mean Ariel Bluefield? Or another Ariel?" His voice shook. "That can't be... She's just a nobody. She wouldn't be involved with someone like you..."
The man's voice dropped lower, deadlier. "Answer me. How. Did. It. Feel... when you kissed my woman?"
Simon was speechless.
The man exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. "You touched her," he murmured. "And now she won't stop scrubbing her wrist."
Simon blinked, confused. The man's voice deepened, filled with quiet rage.
"She's been scrubbing her right wrist raw, trying to erase your touch like it's filth."
He paused, eyes glinting from the dark. "Do you know what that does to a man?"
Simon didn't respond. He couldn't.
The man stood. "Playing dumb? Fine. Jonah,.get the blade."
Simon's blood turned to ice.
He heard the soft rasp of metal being drawn. Panic clawed at his chest.
"Since she's irritated by your filthy touch, I'll make you your perfect hand to match your filthy touch "
He turned to Jonah. Jonah nodded once, then stepped forward with the knife.
Without hesitation, Jonah pressed the dull blade against Simon's right hand.
"Wait-No, no, please-"
The knife began its slow, merciless work.
Simon screamed.
Pain exploded through him as the blade tore flesh from bone. His body thrashed, restrained by ropes, drenched in sweat and blood.
"Ahhh! Stop! STOP!"
Alex, calm, cold, sat back and watched as Simon bled and begged.
Minutes passed. Finally, Jonah sliced through the last tendon.
Simon's right hand fell to the floor with a sickening thud.
"Put it in a bag," Alex said, rising. "Keep it in the freezer."
Jonah nodded, wiping the blood from his hands.
Alex didn't glance at the severed hand. "Tell James to bring the cold water. And the rest of the things."
"Yes, boss."
He turned his gaze back to Simon, now unconscious, slumped in the chair.
This was only the beginning.