Page 3 of Scarred in Silence (The Twisted Trilogy #2)

Lucien

Blood splatters against the concrete before me. The man convulses as the crimson lifeline spills from his worthless body. The sounds of gurgling fill the cell before us. The smell of death is upon us.

Ronan comes to stand to my left, and Jared to the right.

They successfully captured one of the rats that Bastian Cross had on the outside when we swarmed them in Texas.

We have been following their movements for months, but Dante and I don’t kill on a whim.

We are calculated, unlike our fathers were.

I don’t usually prefer to get my hands dirty, but after killing our fathers, I’ve gotten a lot more involved in all areas of the business. I still handle most of the drug operations, but I’ve taken more interest in executing what needs to be done these days.

Ronan is 20 years old, and while he may be arrogant, he knows what he’s doing. Jared, on the other hand, is still learni ng. Jared is 17 years old, and he thinks he can use his charm to his advantage, but that will get him killed.

They are the only two additional men we have hired on for direct business relations.

We decided that it would be beneficial to have an in-house physician, Dr. Ives Marlowe, to assist us with our new methods.

Our fathers used to keep him available on call in case anyone was ever injured, but we haven’t needed him since I got shot in the shoulder when I was 20 years old. Not until now.

After we tortured Dante’s father, we decided we would use that particular torture technique more often. Not being able to hear them speak is better for everyone. People get pathetic when they are about to die, and no one wants to hear them sob like a little bitch.

Ronan holds the knife in front of him, letting the blood run down the smooth metal. He prefers to torture his victims with music playing. I can appreciate the sentiment.

The song “Change” by Deftones blares on the speakers around us. Jared stands with his back pressed against the wall.

“We done here?” Jared’s stoic voice calls out over the song.

I nod to him as he pushes himself off the wall and out of the cell. Ronan doesn’t move. He watches the blood as it pools on the floor beneath his limp body.

“I’m not done,” he says firmly as he flips the knife back and forth in his hand.

I smirk.

“Have at it,” I chuckle as he approaches the man’s body.

The man is likely dead already, but Ronan likes to confirm it.

He has a fascination with dismembering those he kills.

He grabs the man’s hair and holds the blade flush with his hairline as he sca lps the man.

The knife cuts through the thin skin like butter, peeling off his thick skull.

He throws the flesh to the side as he gets a bone saw from the table.

He turns on the oscillating machine, watching the blade spin around.

The machine buzzes through the stale air around us.

He starts at the base of the skull, grinding through the piece of shit’s thick bone.

The saw grinds through, leaving blood splatter and bone fragments all over the room.

He kicks the head to the side like an empty beer can and spits on the body. He has no fear. No remorse. That’s why we hired him. He’s cold and calculated.

He moves onto the arms, sawing through the bone at the shoulder and elbows. He is methodical, like me; he always has a plan and sees it through.

The sound of the saw overpowers the music. Next, he repeats the process on the legs, sawing at the hip and knee.

The air feels dense, and I can see the calmness in his demeanor. If we didn’t hire him, I’m positive he would have been a serial killer.

He turns off the saw, running his bloody hand through his brown hair.

“You done now?”

He grins as he nods in my direction.

We turn towards the door, and I place a call to Dr. Marlowe to dispose of the body.

The phone rings.

“What’s up?” He greets.

“We have another one for ya. Ronan may have gone a little overboard.”

He chuckles.

“No problem. Be the re in an hour.”

“Thanks.”

I end the call. If there is anyone I trust to get rid of a body, it’s him.

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to push the thoughts of my little Siren out of my head. She has been gone for three months, and I’m having a hard time staying away from her. I should have taken her when I had the chance.

She’s like a fucking magnet.

I head outside to my bike, strapping on my helmet. Lucky for me, I have a longer drive ahead of me. It’s how I clear my head these days.

I rev the engine and take off on the gravel drive, hoping to leave all of my thoughts behind me. Thoughts of what should have been, but they will never happen now.

She’s gone.

* * *

Fuck, I need a drink.

I stride into my house and close the solid wooden door behind me.

The house is located about two hours from the compound. I moved further south a month ago. I decided that I no longer needed to be as close to work. I dictate my own business now.

Ever since Astra pulled that idiotic stunt at Dante’s wedding, I’ve been irate.

I can typically keep my calm facade, but she cracked it.

She thinks she can just up and leave like that?

I know I gave her an ultimatum, but she never actually had a choice.

She’s always been loyal to me. She WILL always be loyal to me.

No matter what I did to her, she always came crawling back. Like a fucking whore.

Sh e didn’t care who the fuck I was sleeping with. She would beg me to use her still. I know Astra was telling Evelyn that she was upset with me, but that was all part of her little show. She likes to make other people believe her side of the story, but I know the truth.

I walk over to the wet bar in my living room and pour myself a glass of Absinthe. I sip from the drink, letting the bitterness burn into my throat.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

“What’s up?”

“I found her,” Silas’s words ring in my ears as if a bomb had just exploded next to me.

“Where is she?” My voice is cold and unforgiving.

“Venice Beach. She took a Greyhound. She’s been there a month, it looks like. We picked her up through facial recognition. I’ll email you the details.”

“Thanks.”

I end the call and release a long exhale.

She better be ready to prove her loyalty to me, or I’ll make sure the whore never leaves again.

I walk quickly down the hall to my bedroom. I’m going to need to get a few things in order before I rescue my lost possession.

I open my closet and throw several changes of clothes into my backpack. I grab the additional bag that I have had packed for three months. The bag that contains everything I need to take back what belongs to me.

I check the bag, ensuring all the contents are present. I quickly close the bags and carry them out to the garage. I decide to take my matte black Audi RS7. I’m not flying, of course— I don’t plan on bringing her ba ck conscious.

* * *

My veins are flooded with adrenaline. I’ve never been this thirsty for revenge, but I feel it now.

The air whips through my car as I speed down the highway. The mountains surround me as I descend into madness. The tires squeal against the pavement, and the smell of burnt rubber filters into the car.

There aren’t a lot of things that I’m passionate about, but loyalty is number one. I don’t let people into my circle who are spineless or disloyal because if I have to question their loyalty once, they won’t live long enough to do it twice. Except for fucking Astra.

I want to kill her sometimes, but I won’t. She has always been loyal to me. I know she can be loyal again. She’s just confused. Lost.

I know she has been selling herself for drugs. Letting other men take advantage of what’s mine. Fucking whore.

I kept my end of the bargain. Even though we haven’t been together. I stopped sleeping with other women because she asked me to, because I know how to be loyal. All I asked was that she gave up the stupid fucking drugs for me. She was a zombie, practically already dead.

My head is swimming with rage. I’m lucky the drive is long, that way I can be calm and collected when I see her face.

My phone rings loudly over the speakers in my car.

“What’s up?”

“You good?” Dante’s tone is etched with concern.

“Never been better.”

“You don’t have to do this. You can just let her die out there, you kn ow.”

My hands grip the cool leather tightly, threatening to bend it until it breaks. My jaw clenches at his idea.

“I do have to do this. She fucking belongs to me.”

The line is silent for a moment before Dante lets out a breath.

“I swear to god she will be the death of you.”

“Then so be it,” I snap back.

“How long will you be gone? We have a job tomorrow.”

“As long as it takes. Have Ronan cover for me. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

I end the call.

If Astra is going to be the death of me… then I’ll make sure she rots too.