Page 47 of Wrathful King

“How does it feel?” I called out. “Knowing your fate.”

He didn’t answer, but his breathing said enough.

“Are you tasting fear like our little sister did when she was sent to the whorehouse?” Kian asked as I took a silent step closer. I couldn’t wait to start toying with him and hearing his screams.

“Is your heart pounding so hard, you’re worried you’ll have a heart attack?” I taunted. “Don’t worry, you’ll be begging for one by the time we’re done with you.”

I could taste his fear on my tongue. Desperation permeated the air and a stillness settled over us. Both Kian and I anticipated his brother’s movement. Perez jumped out from behind the tree, bolting in the opposite direction from me.

My knife was out of its holster in the next breath and flying through the air with a soft swish until it found its aim, slicing through his calf.

A screech pierced my ears, sending birds scattering through the canopy of trees. I watched with apathy as he fell flat on his face, then worked to drag himself up. His leg dragging, he attempted to limp away.

Big mistake, because Kian threw his knife, slicing his other calf.

A pitiful yelp, or more like a pussy screech, traveled across the forest.

“Jesus, he’s going to wake up the whole country.” Raphael showed up out of nowhere. It only now registered that he was wearing a white suit. A white fucking suit and combat boots.

“You know that suit will be red by the time we’re done with this guy,” I clipped, suddenly feeling better than I had in weeks.

Crouching beside Perez, I cocked my head and tsked at him. “See what happens when you fuck with me?”

“I should have shot you in that ugly head of yours,” he shouted from the top of his lungs, his voice breaking as I pulled my knife out of his calf. Blood gushed down his leg, soaking his filthy socks.

“It’s my favorite knife. You understand, don’t you?”

I didn’t give two shits whether or not he did.

“Good idea,” Kian chimed. “I want my knife back too.” The black fury I felt in my chest emanated from Kian in the same way. “It’ll be my lucky one, since it’s about to shred this motherfucker to pieces.”

Perez bared his teeth in agony, snarling like a kid who just lost a game.

“You’re all psycho bitches,” he screamed.

We shared amused looks. “Lead the way, Raphael,” I said, grabbing the fucker by the front of his shirt. “I hope it’s a long way to the torture chamber.”

“Don’t you worry,” he drawled. “We’ll take the scenic route.”

I dragged Perez, purposely hitting stumps and rocks to ensure he got the roughest ride. It took only ten minutes to find the spot where Raphael had stashed away his torture gadgets—a bunker that looked like it belonged in World War II, somewhere in Europe. You’d never believe that shit was in Colombia.

“That’s freaky,” Kian remarked dryly, pointing to the array of instruments.

I shoved Perez into the middle of the concrete circle, letting Kian and Raphael secure his wrists and ankles. He begged and stuttered, promising all kinds of riches, while sweat poured down his face. He was no longer proving to be the calm, fearless prisoner.

“I’m sor—”

I kicked him hard in the stomach, cutting his breathandhis apology short.

“No apology will do here,” Kian remarked.

“I want to see you suffer,” I added. “How did you find out my location? How did you know we’d be in the Philippines?” He pressed his lips together in clear refusal, and I punched him hard, breaking his nose.

“Nob—” I took advantage of his open mouth and shoved my knife into it, slicing his tongue. Blood spurted out of him like a damn water hose.

“I always wondered if cutting a man’s tongue floods their mouth with blood,” Kian drawled. “We’ll save that for the last act.”

I grinned, bringing my knife to his groin area. “Thiswill come first. We’ll make the tongue the grand finale. I want to hear his screams when his dick drops to the ground.”