Chapter Sixte en

Nila

My blood pulsed. The rush of excitement came over me as Jonathan’s screams rang out through the empty warehouse. The stench of urine radiated from his body where he’d pissed himself in fear as the first strike of the barbed whip lashed at him. The crimson blood now coating his chest was a beautiful sight.

“Are you ready to confess yet, Jonathan?”

“Never!”

I had to hand it to him, even with the brutality of my punishment, he still bit his tongue. I knew it was only a matter of time before the secrets came flooding through his sinful mouth.

“Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan … Give up already. Haven’t you learned this can only get worse from here on out? Each time you deny me what I want, you make it harder on yourself.”

With another strike of the whip, Jonathan howled.

“Your screams bring me such joy, Jonathan. But what would really make me happy is hearing your sins rolling over your tongue, spilling out from the dark crevices of your black soul.”

Covered in blood, Jonathan looked much more handsome. There was just something about the crimson liquid. The knowledge of how powerful blood truly was. It was the center of life, keeping the heart pumping. With one slice of a blade here or a gunshot wound there, you could watch the life flow out of a person—the sweet relief of death.

Contemplating the tools of my trade and wondering what sort of pain I should inflict on him, I cast my eyes around my work table until I came across a wonderful instrument of destruction.

Ah, perfect.

Calling out to me from the work table was The Screw. Only used once before, it inflicted the most damage and had my previous victim wailing out all his secrets within seconds. As much as I wanted to get right to it, though, I wanted to savor the buildup. Grabbing a hunting knife from the table, I inched it close to Jonathan’s skin, moving the blade up and down like a slow, sweet caress from a lover. Jonathan’s eyes immediately locked onto the sharp, six-inch blade, and he began to tremble.

“Wh-what are you going to do with that?” he croaked, voice hoarse from screaming.

“Shhh. I want to play a game.”

“A game?”

“A game. Truth or lie, if you will. If you tell the truth, you’ll avoid a nick from my blade. Lie to me? You will feel my rage. Understand?”

No response.

“Understand?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good. First question. What was her name?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid. What was the name of the girl you were after?”

“Ellen.”

“Ellen who?”

“Ellen Morgan.”

Examining his body language, I knew I had finally gotten the truth from him. No signs of stuttering, he made direct eye contact with me. He was bold for someone knowing he would eventually die at my hand.

“Good boy. Why now?”

“Why not? I’ve been craving some sweet pussy since I was released last year. Something hot and wet to pound my frustrations out on.”

Rage built inside me, and I bit my tongue, knowing it was a matter of time before I boiled over and Jonathan was left dead.

“How old is she, Jonathan?”

“Fourteen.”

Fourteen? The same age his daughter had been when he first went to prison. This information surged through my brain as the picture became clear in my mind. His own flesh and blood. A victim of his sickness.

“Did you ever rape Molly?”

“What? No! Never!”

His breathing had become uneven, his eyes turning to the side, away from me. He was nervous. Sweating. He was lying. Running my blade across his ribs and over to his side, I thrust downward.

“Holy shit. Motherfucker! You crazy fucking bitch. I’m going to kill you.”

“I warned you that you would pay for lying to me. I may be a crazy fucking bitch, but I’m an honest one. You’re pond scum. How could you rape your own daughter?”

“She wanted it! Walking around in those short shorts all the time. Teasing me with her virginity.”

“She was fourteen!”

“She was a tease!”

Thrusting downward once more, the rage boiled inside me, threatening to foil my plan of torture. Faltering for a second, I came back to myself, staring down at the blood pooling around the hilt of the blade. With a quick movement, I removed the blade and held it up for him to see.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? The crimson blood. The very reason we’re alive. How much blood do you think you can lose before you’re nothing but a decaying corpse for my eyes to feast upon? With one thrust to your heart, you would be dead. No more blood pumping through your veins. No black heart beating with evil. You would be nothing but a corpse. Erased from the world like you never existed. That’s the beauty of blood. The pureness of it.”

“You’re one sick chick, you know that?”

“I wasn’t always this way.”

“Well, someone sure did a fucking number on you, lady.”

“Maybe you’ve heard of me … Alana Masters. I was once an innocent, happy girl. I had just turned eighteen when I was taken. I had my whole life ahead of me until I was kidnapped, forced to be a slave to a man who was like you. A rapist. He blackened my soul and destroyed me bit by bit until nothing was left but the darkness eating away at my soul.”

“I remember. He was twisted like his son.”

“Don’t talk about Jacob that way!” I snapped.

“What the fuck, you stupid bitch?”

“You’re twisted too. Did you ever think of that? You get off on raping teenage girls. Making them suffer. Does it make you feel like a man to have a girl half your size and half your age underneath you?”

“It makes it all the sweeter.”

With a well-aimed blow to his sternum, I knocked the damn wind out of him. That bastard. How dare he bring up Jacob! How dare he make me think of him while I was in my killing zone! The anger tore at my insides. Every inch of me was on fire, and I knew in that instant I would make him regret mentioning Jacob.

With a powerful strut over to the workbench, I picked the tool that had captured my attention earlier. The Screw—made for maximum pain when punishing a waste of space like Jonathan Ross.

Making my way back to the table, I brought my head closer to the tip of his manhood. Whereas before Jonathan was semi-erect from the dominance I showed, he was now flaccid. Between the pain and the humiliation, he could no longer get it up. I would have to do something about that.

My head coming closer, I blew soft puffs of breath over the top of the helmet, my nails lightly scraping across his scrotum. Tantalizing and sensual, I used my breath and my touch to bring his desire back to life. I would hate to have to give the bastard an actual moment of pleasure from my mouth, so my hand was all I would offer. When that didn’t get the desired effect, I gripped his shaft in hand and worked it. Up, down. Slow, fast. Twist to the hand.

Ah, there it was.

Taking The Screw in hand, I started to insert it through his urethra while my other hand stayed firm on his cock. The agony in his screams as the device made its way in slowly, inch by painful inch, made my vengeance even sweeter.

Writhing in pain, his body was covered in sweat, blood, and tears. It was an amazing sight. Jonathan was handsome, but he was even more so when he was wrung out from being tortured at my hand. It was a shame he had to die.

As The Screw reached the end of its journey, I gripped the wings more tightly and made the first twist. Face contorting in pure agony, Jonathan’s scream ricocheted from every inch of the warehouse.

“One last chance, Jonathan. Tell me all of it. Confess your sins.”

“Okay … Okay. Please, please just stop. Please, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” His pain and fear reflected in his voice as his pleading eyes bored into mine, seeking mercy I granted for a moment.

“Tell me and I won’t remove it. Removing it will cause so much more pain.”

“I fucked Molly. I fucked the little bitch and she loved it. She wanted more. She craved Daddy sliding into her. It was mine. She was mine, all mine, and she loved it. She howled like a fucking bitch in heat trying to claw at me. Fuck. She was so damn tight. Such a sweet, sweet sight she was.” He paused and took a deep breath, and then he couldn’t stop the words from flowing. They covered me like a shroud of darkness.

“Ellen. Ellen was who I told you about in your office.” He took another heavy breath. “But you were too late …”

Another heavy breath.

“But you were late. Too late. I had been tailing her for weeks. Waiting for the perfect moment. I didn’t want to go to prison. I tried to stop myself, but I needed it. I needed it! She was alone. It was perfect. I came up behind her and dragged her into the woods by her house. Her sex smelled so sweet. Begging me to lick it. Suck it. But I didn’t have the time. It was amazing. I fucked her so hard that I lost myself in her. I was choking the life out of her before I even knew what I was doing. I looked into her eyes in time to see life escape her. And then I couldn’t help myself. I needed one taste. Just one. It was so sweet.”

This. This confession. It was what I’d begged for. What I longed for. But every time I heard another, the lost little girl in me, the one I was before I was taken, curled up inside my mind, crying. The bile crept up my throat, but I refused to show one ounce of weakness. This man had preyed on enough girls. I wasn’t his victim; I was the predator in this game. The one who would bring him down at the knees. He was my bitch. With a turn of my hand, I turned the wings of The Screw and kept turning. Turning, turning, turning. I wanted him to feel my rage. My pain. I wanted to make him suffer.

For Molly, his daughter.

For Melissa, his first victim.

For Ellen, raped and murdered by his hand.

For me, the girl who had been torn apart and unleashed into the darkness because of a man like him.

With a final grunt of pain, Jonathan passed out underneath my hand. Between the blood loss and torturous pain, his body couldn’t take it anymore and began to shut itself down. I knew I didn’t have much time if I wanted him to feel his death.

Giving Jonathan a moment, wanting to surprise him when he least expected it, I entered the kitchen area and poured myself Dom Perignon, my favorite. A good torture session always left me with a craving for a glass of fine Champagne. Toasting myself on a soon-to-be-successful kill, a sensation washed over me, prickling awareness over my skin.

Someone is out there.

Impossible. No one knew of my warehouse. I went to great lengths to hide any trace of it, and for all anyone knew, it was still abandoned. Looking around, nothing caught my eye, so I shrugged it off, thinking I was being paranoid now that I was so close to the so-called finish line. With one last sip of my Champagne, I licked my lips and left to get reacquainted with Jonathan before he took his last breath.

“Jonathan. Sweet, sweet Jonathan.”

Shaking himself from his stupor, his eyes opened into slits, his gaze meeting mine.

“Wha- what?” he slurred, voice filled with misery.

“Have you confessed it all? Have you given all your sins unto me?”

“Yes … Yes.”

“Good. Are you ready to repent?”

“Repent?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Jonathan.”

“S-s-sorry.”

“Tell me, Jonathan, are you ready to repent for your sins?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. It’s time.”

“Time?”

“Yes. In order to repent, you must die. The only way those girls can be free from pain, free from your destruction, is for you to die. Melissa is too weak. Not strong enough. Ellen is dead. And Molly? Well … Molly …”

“Wh-what?”

“Molly’s locked up. Not in prison though like dear ol’ Dad. No, she’s locked up in the nuthouse because Daddy was a naughty, naughty boy who liked to touch her. She still has nightmares, you know. She still dreams of Daddy creeping into her bed at night and touching her with his perverted touch. I should know, I’m the one who treated her. Why do you think I requested your case, Mr. Ross?”

It was almost comical the way remorse flew across his face. Too little, too late though. Jonathan Ross may have been tried and sentenced for the rape of Melissa, but he’d never paid for Molly.

“Goodbye, Jonathan.”

Plunging my knife into his heart, his life was snuffed out in a flick of an eye.

May peace be with his victims.