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“I’m happy this beauty is fucking mine,” Bez teases him.

I move toward Sari; one arm wraps around his waist, while my hand grabs the notepad.

“It’s time,” I tell him. He said he wants to be in the FUNS room when I work on the fucker. I look into his turquoise eyes. They’re red, he keeps blinking. Did he change his mind? He should lie down. I’m about to push him toward the lab when he gives me a sharp nod.

Well, he wants to make more decisions. This is me not interfering—in a controlled and limited space.

We walk into the FUNS room, followed by Raph—since revenge kills are never done alone, part of the code.

“Is he even alive?” Ollie asks, looking at Trent’s unmoving, bloody body on the table.

Sari replies, “I-I didn’t kill him. I just subdued him. The rest is up to Uri.”

He more than tenderized the fucker for me. It’s more fun when I’m the one to break the donor. “There’s still a lot I can do,” I say as I press against Trent’s eyelid with my thumb, applying increasing pressure.

Eye gouging is painful, but really it’s the psychological torture I’m more interested in right now.

Being abruptly woken up by excruciating pain, his brain can’t process anything else.

It’s telling him to make it stop, to move away.

But he cannot move, terrified to death, overwhelmed by the agonizing sensation, the only thing he can do is take it and bleed.

“We all bleed the same; it’s how we react to the blood that differentiates us, isn’t it?” I declare in a flat tone, just to let him know who is inflicting the pain.

My thumb sinks into his eye ball, ripping a glass-shattering scream out of his lungs.

“You’ve never felt real suffering before today. You touched what’s mine, hurt him, tried to take him from me. Pain will be the only companion in your last moment on earth. And it’s going to be a very long moment, dipshit!” I remove my thumb and grab the wet tissue from the table to clean it.

Revenge can work splendidly if you know when to aim all the contained fury and let it go. And methods that are horrifying to most people can turn into sublime designs with infinite possibilities.

“Where should I start cutting?” I turn to Sari. He takes my hand in his, a firm grip, eyes on Trent. “Tongue or dick?”

“Where will the wheel of death stop today?” Michael interjects. I need to tell Rague to put a damn switch on that damn intercom from inside the room as well.

“Rip out every one of his organs and grind them to a pulp,” Raph decides to give me his useless opinion.

I ignore him. “Should I pull all his teeth?” A whimper comes from the table, but my attention is on Sari. He doesn’t look disturbed, too used to my methods.

“You’re in so much trouble, serial killer,” Lori feels the need to say. “Torture is Uri’s love language. Gutting you like a pig and using your intestines as floss, translates to professing his adoration to Sari.”

Lori’s statement is not totally wrong. I am dedicating this to my Baby Blue.

“By the way, the pig thing would be totally hard core, ending up in the torture record book,” Lori adds.

“How about if he turns him inside out by shoving his arm down his throat, reaching deep down, and grabbing his butt from the inside?” Ollie suggests. He spends too much time with Rague.

Torture does spur this family's wicked, creative juices.

“Too much work,” I hear Ezra say. “Popping his eyes out and making him eat them seems an easier solution.”

“Those are both meh.” Bez huffs, eviscerating is more his thing

I turn toward them. They’re all on the other side of the glass wall, watching us with interest.

“What happened to the no-comments-from-the-peanut-gallery rule?” I mutter.

Raph dismisses my words. “Cut his hands off and sew them on his head.”

Where does he come up with this shit? “Fuck off!”

“Not good at sewing, eh?” Lori snickers.

“Why the head?” I hear Ollie ask.

“Like a bunny. It’s creepy cute,” Michael replies.

“You’re a freak!” Gabe states.

“We all are,” Raph defends his husband.

I see Ezra nodding. He seems comfortable, like he’s always been part of this twisted family. It doesn’t annoy me as much as before. But I’m still irritated by his very presence.

“Let me go! You perverted disgusting sicko assholes!” There’s no missing how strained Trent’s voice sounds.

Sari’s grip around my fingers intensifies. “What he does is not horrible, it’s essential. What you did, on the other hand, to all those poor men and tried to do to me is despicable.” He’s shuddering with anger. So beautiful as he tries to protect me.

“Killing shitheads like you is very therapeutic,” Lori adds.

“You’re mine. Miiiine!” The fucker yells, glowering at Sari with his…eye.

“Say that again, and I’ll mash your balls into a fine powder,” I hiss, yanking at his bloodied hair.

“What a daft prick.” Lori again. I swear I’m going to plug his mouth as soon as I’m done here. “You can’t separate Suri.”

“Suri?” Ezra asks.

“Sari plus Uri,” Michael explains.

“Let’s go back to the torture part, or just off him,” Raph states in a bored tone.

“I’m not yours. I’m his,” Sari suddenly exclaims pointing at our laced hands. Those surges of confidence are cute and sexy.

“You were mine first!” The fucker has the balls to yell—but not for long.

With a roar, I let go of Sari’s hand to grab my Staccato XC 9mm. I flip it and swing the butt down hard on the fucker’s collarbone. He bawls like a newborn baby.

“That means shit.” I drop the heavy metal grip on a rib this time, breaking that too.

“I’m the one taking care of him, not you.

” Another rib, another cry. “I’m the one coming inside him, not you.

Filling him deep and kissing his lips, not you.

” I move to his right bloody hand and hammer away.

“I wear his brand, and he wears mine.” Now it’s his dick’s turn.

“You’re just a talking.” Hit! “Dead.” Hit! “Fucker.” Hit, hit.

I’m not the voice of reason right now; I’m the voice of wrath.

I lower the gun when I feel Sari’s hand on my forearm. His face is buried in my shoulder, eyes closed.

I kiss his head, not gently, all I have in me right now is fury and fire. Sari needs the threat to be gone, but doesn’t need to be part of the annihilation. Killing is not in his blood. I am. And I’ll always give him what he needs.

“Baby Blue. Leave this to me. Focus on the DNA we took from him,” I order him.

He nods. Then he lands a kiss on my shirt and leaves. And Ezra comes in, stopping near Raph.

“How do you dispose of the bodies?” he asks. I start cleaning Pamela’s grip—the Staccato was of use finally, it has earned its name.

“Acid,” Gabe is the one to answer from the other side of the glass wall.

“John George Haigh style?” Ezra’s questioning is getting on my nerves.

“Oh, the acid bath murderer,” Sari exclaims before walking into the lab.

“That was a clean-freak serial killer.” Michael sends a look at Raph, who huffs at him.

Ollie gets in on the conversation as well. “Creepy, Freddy creepy.”

“Why not use a wood chipper?” Ezra again.

“Too messy,” Gabe responds.

I leave Pamela on the table and glance at Trent. He’s whimpering and softly moaning. Does he think this is over? I hope so, because he’s in for a huge surprise.

I walk to the mini flamethrower—a more portable version of a traditional one.

“Where did you get that?” Ollie asks me.

“Home Depot.”

“How much?” Does he want to buy one for Rague? I think he has like six of these.

“On sale around seventeen bucks.” It’s small but very effective at melting skin off bones.

“Are you going to get the nipple enlarger?” Lori’s eyes are on the long pair of metal tweezers dangling from the ceiling.

“You mean the nut re-arranger,” Michael states.

“Nope. It’s the potty re-trainer,” Gabe feels the need to utter.

I’m about to tell everybody to fuck off when an alarm starts blaring.

“Fire, Fire, Fire.” Serena’s voice echoes inside the base. “Proceed to the closest fire exit with caution.”

Fire? I look up. The sprinklers on the ceiling are not working. I turn to the lab where Sari is. He grabs something from his desk before making his way to the others.

“Rami,” Raph answers his phone, and then only listens to our brother talking on the line.

“A fire started in the shack in the backyard,” he says. “The wind is bringing it toward the house. The fire safety system was activated, but there seems to be a malfunction. We need to get out of here.”

A malfunction—is that why the sprinklers are not working?

“A fire and Rague is not here,” I hear Ollie say. It’s ironic in a way.

I drop the flamethrower and move to the tool table.

“I’ll go check on Ferdinand and Sophia.” Gabe is talking about the people who work in the main house.

“You all go, take Sari. I’ll finish here.” Raph nods at me in understanding as he grabs Michael and a reluctant Sari and drags them away.

“I’m right behind you,” I call after him.

“I’m going as well,” Ezra is holding the door open.

“I’ll find you later. I need those answers.” I give him a threatening look, to which he smirks before walking away. Fucker!

I pick up Pamela one more time and walk near the table. I aim for Trent’s head—I wanted to prolong the agony, but I need to make sure Sari is fine.

“Time to die, motherfucker.”

Trent grits his teeth and meets my gaze.

His mouth opens, but I don’t let the words come out.

The bang of the bullet leaving my gun and piercing the air is the only sound I hear.

My hand snaps slightly back from the recoil, and I take a big breath before lowering it.

His head flops back before rolling to the side. One empty eye stares at nothing.

Blood starts dripping from the hole in his forehead. The red drop slides down over his eyebrow and lands on the metal surface of the table. I’m hypnotized as more join it, forming parallel patterns on his forehead before creating a crimson puddle. I watch, feeling a peaceful satisfaction.