Page 9

“What? No, I merely paid for the whore,” he retorts callously, and a surge of anger courses through my veins at his vile words.

Without hesitation, my claws slice down his face, cutting through flesh until they reach bone.

In one swift motion, I seize his throat, hoisting him up before forcefully slamming him onto the nearby table.

“Please, I beg of you! She’s still pure! I only fucked her ass. Her virginity remains intact. Buyers value that,” he pleads desperately. Every fiber of my being bristles with rage. Liam’s claws sink into his thigh at his words.

My grip tightens around his throat as I growl, “You seem to be gravely mistaken. We couldn’t care less about her virginity; what truly concerns us is whether or not you’ve caused her harm.

But please continue talking; you’re only making your demise more excruciating.

There are two things we despise with every fiber of our being: rapists and those who harm children.

And you, my friend, have committed both of these heinous acts.

Now, you shall face the consequences of your crimes with your blood,” Liam snarls menacingly, his claws digging into the man’s thigh as his screams reverberate through the air.

With deliberate slowness, Liam withdraws his claws, twisting them as he does so, causing the man’s agonized shrieks to fill the room.

Meanwhile, his hands clasp mine, reinforcing my grip around the man’s throat.

“Help me move him, flip him on his stomach,” I tell Liam, who walks off into the freezer. He returns, bringing back the ropes he had tied this scumbag with. We flip onto his stomach before binding his hands and feet to the legs of the table. He thrashes wildly and continues to scream.

Liam starts whistling as he cuts the vile man’s pants off while he cries and begs. Walking into the freezer, I look for a broom, finding one in the back corner by the grate and drain in the floor. Grabbing it, I walk back out to find Doyle crying hysterically and begging Liam to free him.

His words cut off, and his head lifts, his mouth wide open on a silent scream as he gasps when I shove the broom handle up his ass. His entire body shakes, his legs trembling uncontrollably. Blood trails over the steel table.

“I swear you’re still pure. Anal doesn’t count, right?

” I ask him while I walk around the table.

I grip his hair, yanking his head back. He pants, eyes wide, and I smile when Liam gives the broom a jiggle, and he makes a pained groan.

I drop his head, and Liam walks over to the wall and pulls down a bone saw, chucking it to me.

He then unrolls his pouch of knives, selecting one.

“So slice and dice, or will we be more creative today?” Liam asks.

“Please, please, just let me go,” the man begs.

“Don’t cry, beefcakes. Gannon here will make sure we tenderize your rump before we make you eat it.

We can stuff it some more,” Liam tells him, slapping his ass.

“If you like. I reckon you could take another, pretty loose back there,” Liam adds.

The man whimpers and sobs before pissing himself, urine cascading down the sides of the table along with his blood.

“What’s that?” Liam asks when Doyle mumbles something incoherently.

“Think he said he wanted the other broom,” I tell Liam, who smiles sadistically while the man screams and thrashes as much as possible.

Liam comes out with a mop, and I shrug.

“It’s alright, I will spit on it first,” Liam tells him before shoving it in alongside the other one. His screams are music to my ears, ringing out loudly, and making me shiver.

“Now, do you like your meat medium, raw, cooked all the way through? How should we serve it to you?” Liam says, cutting a chunk of his ass cheek off with his knife.

The butcher screams wildly, and I grab my saw before using a rag as a tourniquet.

I know he will heal quickly, but the tourniquet will ensure he does before bleeding out.

Wrapping it just above the knee, I pull it tight before grabbing my saw, and I start cutting into the back of his knee.

His howls fill me with savage delight. The smell of blood permeates the air, thick and cloying, mingling with the stench of his fear. His pleas become garbled and incoherent as he chokes on his own terror, but they fall on deaf ears.

“Slow down, brother,” Liam urges over the cacophony of desperate sobs and grunts of pain. “Savor the moment.”

I heed his words. I ease off the pressure, drawing out each stroke of the saw so that he feels every grinding inch cutting through sinew and bone.

A sickly, wet sound fills my ears as the saw savages his flesh.

His hideous screams reverberate through the room, melding with the dreadful squelching as the saw bites in deeper spraying the floor with blood.

Liam chuckles lowly beside me, calmly dissecting more flesh from the man’s hip. Casual as you like, as though he’s merely preparing a Sunday roast rather than ripping chunks from a living being. But this... creature... long forfeited his humanity.

As I lay down my saw and step back to survey our handiwork, a perverse sense of satisfaction blooms within me. But there’s a gnawing hunger still left unsated - an insatiable thirst for vengeance that not even this gruesome show can quench.

I turn my attention to Liam who is still immersed in his task. He looks at me, the corners of his lips curve into a bloody smile that does little to conceal his feral pleasure.

“Would you like to do the honors?” he asks casually, he tugs on the knife’s hilt, waggling it in the pit of gore which was once part of Doyle’s flesh.

The blade is warm and slick as it slides free from the bone.

Raising it before me to examine, I realize the man’s blood coating the blade reflects the perverse pleasure in my eyes.

“Mmm, no,” I reply to Liam with a slow, measured shake of my head. “I think I fancy something… different.”

The tray next to us holds our other implements of torment: clamps, pliers, maiming devices with teeth and creepy curves that glisten and wink at you menacingly from their steel-sterilized existence, Liam loves creating his own torture devices so that is one thing we will never short on.

Yet, amongst them there is one tool that catches my eye.

The branding iron.

Liam raises an approving eyebrow as he observes my choice, chuckling underneath his breath at the accompanying whimper from our plaything on the table. There are few things more satisfying than shaping willful flesh with fire and metal.

With one hand firmly gripping the branding iron’s handle, I turn to face Liam.

“Fancy a barbecue?” I suggest gleefully, enjoying how Doyle squirms on the cold table at the mere mention of flame meeting skin. The rush of fear alone is enough to stoke our own excitement further.

“Delightful!” Liam responds enthusiastically. “Medium-rare or well done? Oh I could make some Doyle steaks. I will make Alpha Dean taste him!” Liam almost squeals with excitement.

A surge of electricity zips through me at his words. This is why we make such good partners in crime; it is this shared joy in our vile actions that adds a dark spice to everything we do.

“Let’s start with medium-rare and see how he fares, we don’t want him dying too quickly.” I suggest. The thrill of the approaching torment igniting a sickening harmony within us.

“We need fire, I will go ask the Alpha if he has a gas burner,” Liam says, strutting out through the front doors before I hear a shriek from someone outside. No doubt from the state of him since he is covered in blood.

While I wait for him to return, I relish in Doyle’s helpless whimpers knowing what is coming.

Liam returns with a small, portable burner.

“Here we go,” he chimes, setting the gas burner down with care. His eyes gleam with anticipation as he ignites the flame, casting an ominous glow around the room.

I hold the branding iron over the flame, watching as it begins to glow red, then white. The smell of heated metal fills the air, an appetizer to the main course. My pulse quickens in anticipation as Doyle’s weeping intensifies.

“Aw, now don’t start crying just yet,” I coo down at him. “I haven’t even touched you with it yet.”

Sweat beads down Doyle’s face in rivulets, mingling with the tears that stain his cheeks. His body shudders under our hands and we exchange amused glances over him.

Once satisfied that the iron has been adequately heated, I lift it from the flame. The air sizzles ominously around it and a small wisp of smoke curls toward the ceiling.

“Ready?” I ask Liam, though it barely registers as a question. Liam nods in response nonetheless, his eyes fixed on the branding iron with an obsessive fascination.

I let out a low hum of satisfaction at Liam’s eagerness before turning my attention back to our victim. I lower my hand slowly until the glowing head of the branding iron is inches from Doyle’s sweat-slicked skin.

He writhes beneath me trying fruitlessly to escape but it only serves to heighten my amusement.

The whimpering reaches a frenzied pitch as his flesh sizzles and burns, the smell of seared meat wafting into the air.

Liam nearly doubles over in laughter at the sight, clapping a bloodied hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

The man is crazy, and I love him for it.

I lift the brand from Doyle’s chest, revealing a perfectly rendered burn of a cock, of course Liam made his brands into dicks. His screams still reverberate around the room long after the branding iron has left his skin.

Liam’s predatory grin returns as he regards Doyle. He wipes his bloody hands on his apron and holds up another tool - a matching cookie cutter.

“I believe it’s your turn, brother.”

“I promised Alpha Dean a dick steak! I even found some marinade,” he chuckles, producing a marinade sauce from his apron pocket.

Doyle whimpers as Liam approaches and stabs the cookie cutter into his chest, sawing it back and forth around the brand to make his steak piece.

Doyle passes out and Liam pouts. “Oi wakey wakey,” Liam slaps his face a couple times.

“Pussy, hopefully he wakes when I make sausages from his intestines. For now I want to marinade this, we could restock his fridges at this rate, plenty of Mr. Porky to go around.” Liam chuckles, using his knife to slice his dick shaped steak out.