Page 14

Chapter 14

Christopher

LATER THAT DAY

As I watch Elle cradle our daughter in her arms, a fierce, protective rage surges through my veins, threatening to consume me. The knowledge that the man she trusted, the teacher she looked up to, was the monster who violated her in the most heinous way possible fills me with a blinding, white-hot fury.

I clench my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The urge to storm down to the basement, to unleash the full force of my wrath upon Mr. Evans, is almost overwhelming. I want to make him suffer, to inflict upon him a fraction of the pain and terror he subjected Elle too.

My focus needs to be on Elle right now. I approach the bed, my heart constricting at the sight of Elle's tearstained face and the way she keeps a hand on Miracle at all times, as if terrified that she too might be ripped away from her. Gently, I gather them both into my arms.

“I'm here, Elle," I murmur, my lips brushing against her temple. "I'm here, and I will never let anyone hurt you or our daughter ever again. I swear it on my life."

Elle smiles up at me for the first time since all of this shit has happened, Meadow keeps on peeking in the door to check on the both of them.

“You’re so brave, I love you so fucking much.”

She reaches up to cup my jaw. “I love you. It hurt me finding out that it was someone I knew that had done this, but it doesn’t change anything deep down. It was the shock.”

I clench my jaw trying to fight back the anger.

“I love you so much and I will not let this man tarnish this beautiful moment in my life with our daughter.” Her voice is strong and steady.

I kiss her forehead. “This fucker doesn’t deserve an ounce of your pain or despair.”

She closes her eyes, sinking into my arms.

“Sleep, baby, you need your rest and when you wake up, this fucker will be gone.”

She freezes for a moment, looking at me long and hard. “Make it hurt and make it last.”

I chuckle darkly. “That is a fucking promise.”

Let the fun begin.

Elle

A s the door clicks shut behind Christopher, I let out a shuddering breath, sinking back into the pillows. Meadow moves to my side, her warm, comforting presence a balm to my frayed nerves. She sits on the edge of the bed, her hand gently resting on my arm, her eyes filled with concern and compassion.

Christopher fought himself the whole time as he left me, but Meadow, my mom, Amelia, and Tiffany are all here with me.

Trust me, I don’t think I will be left completely alone for a long time, and I can’t blame them from the fear of everything that has happened.

I glance down at Miracle, sleeping peacefully in my arms, her tiny rosebud lips pursed in a contented pout. "I just want to give her the world," I murmur, my fingers gently stroking her dewy cheek. "I want her to grow up knowing nothing but love and happiness and safety. I never want her to experience the pain and fear that I did."

Meadow leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Miracle's forehead. "And she won't," she says firmly. "Not with you and Christopher as her parents. Not with an entire club full of badass uncles ready to lay down their lives for her. That little girl is going to be the most cherished, protected child on the planet."

I laugh softly, the sound a little watery but genuine. "She's going to be so spoiled," I say, shaking my head. "Between Christopher and my dad, she's never going to want for anything."

I look up at Meadow, my eyes brimming with tears of gratitude. "Meadow, I don't even know how to begin to thank you," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "You've been there for me through everything, including danger.”

Meadow's eyes soften, her own tears threatening to spill over. She reaches out, grasping my hand in hers, her touch warm and comforting. "Oh, Elle," she says, her voice filled with love and understanding. "You never have to thank me. Being here for you, supporting you, it's not just my job as your doctor. It's my privilege as your friend."

I squeeze her hand, a watery smile spreading across my face. "You're more than just my friend, Meadow. You're family.”

Meadow brushes a stray tear from her cheek, her smile radiant and full of love. "Seeing you now, holding your beautiful baby girl, so full of love and hope for the future… it makes every moment worth it. You're an incredible mother, Elle. Miracle is so lucky to have you."

I gaze down at my daughter, my heart swelling with a love so fierce and all-consuming it takes my breath away. "I'm the lucky one," I whisper. "Lucky to have her, lucky to have Christopher, lucky to have you and everyone else who has stood by me.

I feel a sense of settledness in my heart knowing that this is over, and soon that fucker will be dead and he won’t be a threat to Miracle.

I know I’m softer than the rest of the girls in the club, and it’s something I’ve had to fight myself on.

But I’m just not someone who’s down to bust someone’s head in, but I do know if someone tried to hurt someone I care about I could kill them with my bare hands.

I run my finger along Miracle’s soft little cheek. I would do anything to protect her and make sure she’s safe.

Just the way my family is protecting me.

As if sensing my thoughts, Miracle stirs in my arms, her tiny fingers curling around mine. Her eyes flutter open, staring up at me with pure innocence and trust.

In that moment, I know with absolute certainty that I would move heaven and earth to keep her safe, to give her the life she deserves.

I smirk to myself, thinking about all of the things they’re going to do to Mr. Evans. Torture him over and over.

If only I were a fly on the wall.

Christopher

L eaving her is fucking hard after all of the shit that happened today.

The fear on her face as she looked at her teacher will forever fucking haunt me.

I ride my bike to the clubhouse where I know the others are waiting for me and Derek who’s been at the house with us until we got Elle settled.

I pull up to the clubhouse, my heart pounding with a dark, vengeful anticipation. The atmosphere is so thick with tension I’m not sure how the fucker isn’t choking on it.

I stop outside of the door, giving myself a moment. This is something I’ve waited for and craved for, for months.

The door swings open with a screech, and everyone turns to look at me at once. My dad walks over to me.

“How’s Elle?” Mason asks me.

I shake my head, my jaw clenching with barely restrained fury. "She's shaken up but putting on a brave face. Meadow and the other women are with her now." I glance around the room, taking in the hardened expressions of my brothers, the cold steel in their eyes.

I look over Mason’s shoulder, my eyes going to him. His eyes are almost swollen shut from the ass beating I gave him. “I think it’s time to try out the specially ordered tools I have, don’t you?” I smirk at Mason.

He chuckles and pushes open a door that leads to another room filled with remade antique pieces.

"What the fuck is this shit?” he asks, and I can hear the crack in his voice.

I walk over to him, gripping his face so he can’t look away. “Oh this? I have been planning on the way I’m going to inflict torture in the most painful way possible, since the moment I found out someone hurt Elle.”

“Konrad, reckon you could keep him alive long enough for us all to have some fun?” my dad asks Konrad.

The door to the basement slams open and in walks Smiley, my grandpa, who’s been gone on a trip. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t miss the fun.”

Then behind him is Zach, Tiana, Shaylin, and Butcher.

I walk to the wall where I have some of the smaller tools hanging, picking up a smile device. “Ahh, the pear of anguish. Did you know you can use these in multiple different areas? But I have a specific one in mind for you. Let’s unclothe this fucker.”

Derek and Reid grab Evans, their hands rough as they rip away his clothing, stripping him naked. Evans struggles against their grip, whimpering pathetically, but he's no match for their strength.

Once he's bare, they force him down onto a steel table, the metal cold against his skin. Thick leather straps bind his wrists and ankles, immobilizing him. Evans's chest heaves with panicked breaths, his eyes wide with terror as he stares up at the men surrounding him.

I approach slowly, the choke pear glinting menacingly in my hand. Evans's gaze fixes on it, his face paling as realization dawns.

"Please, no… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" he babbles, his voice high and reedy with fear. "I'll do anything, please don't…"

"Shut the fuck up," I growl, backhanding him across the face. Blood sprays from his split lip. "You lost the right to beg for mercy the second you laid your filthy hands on Elle."

The other men gather around the table, their expressions hard and pitiless. Konrad steps up beside me, his dark eyes glittering

The table that they put him on just happens to be the rack, so they turn him around with his ass up in the air.

I nod to Konrad. "Make sure this bastard doesn't pass out too quickly. I want him to feel every moment."

Konrad gives a grim smile as he picks up a scalpel. "Oh, he will. I'll make sure of that."

I turn back to Evans, relishing the abject terror in his eyes. "You know what this is?" I ask, holding up the pear. "It's called the pear of anguish. A nasty little device used back in the Middle Ages. They'd stick it up the victim's ass, or sometimes down their throat, then slowly crank it open. The metal petals expand, tearing the insides apart bit by bit."

Evans whimpers, renewing his futile struggles against the restraints. I chuckle darkly.

"But we've made some modern adjustments. See, I had this one custom-made, just for you. The petals are serrated, like a rusty saw blade. And we've coated it with capsaicin—that's the active ingredient in chili peppers. Burns like hell on contact."

I step between his splayed legs, pressing the tip of the pear against his ass.

Evans's eyes bulge with horror as he feels the cold metal press against his exposed flesh. He writhes on the table, begging incoherently for mercy. But there will be none. Not after what he did to Elle.

I lean in close, my voice a menacing whisper in his ear. "This is just the beginning, you sick fuck. By the time we're done with you, you'll be begging us to end your miserable existence."

With a cruel twist of my wrist, I force the pear inside him. Evans screams, his back arching off the table as the metal petals stretch him open. I crank the handle slowly, relishing each agonized wail that tears from his throat.

The capsaicin ignites an inferno inside him, the burn intensifying with every movement. Tears stream down his face, mixing with the blood and spittle from the beating he took at the hospital.

Blood runs in rivulets down Evans's thighs, pooling on the table beneath him. His screams echo off the basement walls, raw and animalistic.

The other men watch impassively, their faces hardened masks of cold fury. Mason steps forward, a blowtorch in his hand. He turns it on, pointing it toward Evans.

"Let's see how loud he squeals when we apply a little heat.”

Mason brings the flickering blue flame of the blowtorch close to Evans's lower back, just above where the pear protrudes. Evans's screams reach a new, frenzied pitch as he feels the searing heat blister his skin. The smell mingles with the coppery tang of blood, creating a stomach-churning miasma of burning flesh.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Mason snarls, moving the torch slowly up Evans's spine. Angry red welts and charred black patches mark its path. "Not when you're the one being violated, helpless to stop the pain."

Evans babbles incoherently, his words lost in the guttural howls tearing from his raw throat. His body convulses, straining against the unyielding leather bindings.

Zach steps up next, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He holds a cattle prod, the kind used to herd livestock. With a flick of his wrist, he jams it into Evans's side, releasing a jolt of electricity that has the man jerking like a puppet on a string.

I crank the pear again, making the opening even wider, chuckling at Evans’s screaming, and I step back just in time so he doesn’t piss on me.

“Gross.” I gag at the smell, and my grandpa starts laughing loudly. “Shit, boy, you have this fucker with his ass split open with burnt flesh hanging off, and you get grossed out by his piss?”

Everyone joins in the laughter. “Well, I was sick at the sight of his dick too, but I didn’t complain.” I shrug, and Derek laughs the loudest of all.

We’re all fucked up and it's showing.

Mason withdraws the blowtorch, admiring his handiwork with a sadistic grin. Evans's back is a ruined mess of scorched flesh and weeping blisters. He twitches and shudders, his voice reduced to whimpers.

I wrench the pear from his abused hole, and he screams at the top of his lungs. With a disgusted sneer, I toss it aside. It clatters to the floor, slick and glistening.

Konrad steps up, a hypodermic needle in hand. He jabs it into Evans's neck, depressing the plunger. "A little cocktail to keep you conscious," he explains coldly. "Can't have you checking out on us too soon."

I move to the gears of the rack, a device used to slowly pull the joints apart in someone's limbs. Evans's eyes widen with renewed terror as he realizes what's coming next.

"No, please!" he sobs, his voice ragged and desperate. "I can't take any more. Kill me, please, just kill me!"

I lean in close, my eyes burning with a merciless rage. "Kill you? Oh no, we're not nearly done with you yet. You haven't even begun to suffer the way Elle suffered."

With a vicious yank, I turn the crank. The gears grind and the ropes pull taut. Evans howls as he feels his arms and legs stretch, the joints creaking under the strain.

I keep cranking, slowly, methodically. The tendons in Evans's shoulders and hips quiver, then snap, one by one, like over-tuned guitar strings. He writhes and shrieks, his voice cracking, fading to a rasping keen.

He turns to look at each person in the room to see if anyone would have any pity for him.

"How does it feel?" I snarl, leaning over him. "To be helpless, at the mercy of someone else's cruelty? To know that your pain brings them pleasure?"

Evans can only gurgle in response, his voice destroyed by his incessant screaming. Blood bubbles from his lips, frothing pink as it dribbles down his chin.

Evans's limbs are stretched to their limits now, the bones creaking and popping under the immense pressure. His eyes roll back in his head, only the whites visible as the agony overwhelms him. But Konrad's cocktail of drugs keeps him from the relief of unconsciousness.

I crank the rack with a final, brutal turn and with a sickening series of cracks, Evans's shoulders and hips dislocate. He spasms, his body going rigid before collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Still with us?" I ask, slapping his face. Evans's eyelids flutter, unfocused pupils slowly tracking to me.

Derek steps up, a pair of rusty pliers in hand. He grabs Evans's jaw, forcing his mouth open, and wrenches out a tooth with a squelching pop. Evans gurgles, fresh blood pouring down his throat.

Derek holds up the bloody tooth. "One down. Thirty-one to go." The sound in the room is filled with the crack and crunch of teeth being ripped out aggressively.

Once the last molar is wrenched free, Derek tosses the pliers aside with a clatter. He grabs Evans's jaw, forcing his mouth open to survey his handiwork. Nothing remains but glistening, bloody gums and splintered remnants of bone.

"Not so pretty now, are you?" Derek sneers. "No more charming smiles to lure in innocent girls."

Evans can only wheeze in response, his breath rattling wetly in his chest. His face is a mask of agony, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Butcher steps forward next, a wicked-looking knife in hand. He grabs Evans's right hand, splaying the fingers out on the table.

"You touched her with these hands," Butcher growls, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. "Violated her, broke her. Now, I'm going to break you."

With a vicious chop, Butcher brings the knife down on Evans's pinkie finger, severing it cleanly at the knuckle. Evans's shriek is little more than a gurgling whine, his throat too raw to produce much sound.

Butcher works his way across the hand, methodically amputating each finger. Shards of bone protrude from the raw, bleeding stumps. When he's finished, he moves to the other hand, repeating the process.

Evans writhes weakly, his mutilated hands twitching and spasming. Tears and snot stream down his face, mixing with the blood.

Zach steps forward again, a pair of bolt cutters in his grip. He positions them over Evans's right foot, at the base of his small toe.

"Wonder if you'll be able to balance without these," he muses, almost conversationally. Then with a grunt of effort, he squeezes the handles together.

The toe comes off with a crunch and a spurt of blood. Evans gurgles, his foot jerking reflexively.

Zach moves on to the next toe, and the next, until the foot is nothing but a mangled stump, the bones of the metatarsals gleaming in the harsh light. He repeats the process on the other foot, meticulously snipping off each toe.

Evans's breaths come in short, shallow gasps, his chest heaving with the effort. His face is ashen, skin clammy with shock. He seems to be drifting, his gaze unfocused, slipping toward the beckoning void of oblivion.

But Konrad is there, jabbing another needle into his neck, pumping him full of stimulants to yank him back from the brink. Evans's eyes snap open, a low keening wail bubbling up from his ruined throat as the awareness of his agony comes crashing back.

I step forward again, a blowtorch in one hand and a pair of metal shears in the other. I light the torch, the blue flame dancing and flickering.

"You took something precious from Elle," I say, my voice low and cold. "Something she can never get back. So now, I'm going to take something from you."

I nod to Butcher and Zach. They grab Evans's legs, spreading them wide and holding them down. Evans thrashes weakly, a gurgling moan of terror rising from his throat as he realizes what's coming.

I position the shears at the base of Evans's flaccid penis. Even through the haze of agony, the primal fear shines bright in his eyes. I smile, a cruel twist of my lips.

"No more using this as a weapon," I snarl. Then with a vicious squeeze, I close the shears, severing his penis in one brutal snip.

Evans's howl is more of a breathless wheeze, his body convulsing against the restraints. Blood spurts from the ragged stump, splattering hot and sticky across my gloved hands.

I bring the blowtorch close, the searing heat cauterizing the gushing wound. The stench of burnt flesh permeates the air. Evans's body goes rigid, his back arching off the table as a silent scream tears from his throat.

I toss the severed appendage aside with a look of pure disgust. It hits the floor with a wet slap, a pitiful, shriveled thing.

"That's for every woman you've ever violated, you sick bastard," I spit, my voice shaking with rage.

Evans is barely conscious now, eyes rolled back. His breath comes in shallow, hitching gasps, his body quivering and twitching in the aftermath of unimaginable agony.

I grip his face, hard. “Tell me, did you kill all of those young girls too?”

Evans's eyes roll back into focus, meeting mine with a glassy, feverish stare. His lips tremble, a thin line of bloody drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. For a long moment, he just stares, his gaze unfocused, as if struggling to comprehend the question through the haze of pain.

Then, slowly, a twisted, maniacal grin splits his face. A gurgling chuckle bubbles up from his throat, morphing into a full-blown, unhinged cackle. The sound is chilling, devoid of any humanity or remorse.

"Y-yes…" he rasps, his voice a barely audible whisper. "I killed them. All of them. Just like I would have killed Elle, given the chance. Their screams… their blood… it was exquisite."

A collective intake of breath echoes throughout the room, the confession hanging heavy in the air. Rage, cold and visceral, coils in my gut, my vision bleeding red at the edges.

"You sick fuck," I snarl, my grip on his face tightening, fingers digging into his flesh. "You're a fucking monster. I have one more thing for you.”

In the back of the room is the brazen bull and Reid already has the fire started to start heating it up.

“Anyone else?” I ask my brothers, stepping back to let them have their pound of flesh.

The other men step forward, each eager to have their turn at inflicting suffering on the monster before them. Lane grabs a pair of pliers, his eyes cold as he leans over Evans's face.

"You took pleasure in your victims’ screams," Lane growls. "Let's see how much you enjoy the sound of your own."

With ruthless precision, he grasps Evans's tongue with the pliers and yanks, stretching the muscle taut. Evans gurgles, eyes bulging as Lane twists viciously, the wet snap of the tongue being ripped out echoing through the room. Blood gushes from Evans's mouth as he chokes and sputters.

Next, Mason approaches with a sledgehammer, his expression grim. He positions it over Evans's right knee.

"You'll never be able to chase down another innocent girl," Mason snarls, then brings the hammer down with brutal force. Bone shatters with a sickening crunch and Evans jerks, a strangled cry tearing from his bleeding mouth. Mason moves to the other knee, repeating the process, pulverizing the joint.

Everyone else steps up and tortures him, even my sister Tiffany, Shaylin, and Tiana.

I stare down at Evans's broken, mutilated form, and I feel a strange emptiness. The rage that has burned in my gut for months is just… gone.

In its place is a hollow sort of satisfaction, a grim acknowledgment that justice has been served.

Evans's remaining eye, swollen nearly shut, flickers open. His gaze meets mine, and in that moment, I see the light of understanding dawn. He knows his end has come.

With a sense of finality, I nod to Reid and Butcher. They step forward, grasping Evans's mangled form and hauling him up from the blood-soaked table. His limbs dangle uselessly, the shattered joints and severed extremities flopping grotesquely with each movement. A wet, gurgling moan seeps from his ruined mouth as they drag him across the room, leaving a slick trail of blood behind him.

The brazen bull looms before us. The firelight dances across its surface, casting flickering shadows that seem to writhe and twist with a malevolent life of their own. Reid and Butcher hoist Evans up, positioning him at the opening in the bull's side.

I step forward, my hand resting on the warm metal flank of the bull. I can feel the heat emanating from within, the hungry flames licking at the bronze bull.

I lean in close to Evans's face, his labored, wheezing breaths hot and rank against my skin.

"This is where it ends, fucker. She is mine, and I hope it haunts you in hell knowing she will never be yours.”

I nod to Reid and Butcher. With a final, unceremonious heave, they shove Evans into the opening of the bull. His broken body crumples, folding in on itself as he's swallowed into the dark interior.

With a vicious yank, I pull the lever. The door of the bull slams shut with a resounding clang.

Almost immediately, the screams begin—high and thin at first, then rising in volume and intensity as the searing heat engulfs him.

We all stand around waiting until the screams end, the agonized wails begging for us to spare him.

Then it turns silent.

I turn to face my brothers, my father, my friends—the men who have stood by me through this nightmare. Gratitude swells in my chest, a lump forming in my throat as I try to find the words to express the depth of my appreciation.

"Thank you," I say, my voice rough with emotion. "Thank you for being here, for helping me end this. I couldn't have done it without you."

Derek steps forward, clasping my shoulder in a firm grip. His eyes shine with a fierce pride and love. "You never have to thank us, son. This is what family does. We protect our own, no matter what."

“It’s over, we got justice for Elle, and she can live her life without fear of that stupid fucker,” my dad tells all of us, and we turn our back to the bull burning this fucker alive.