We share this sacred communion, bonding through blood and agony.
This fool will regret the day he crossed us.
I nod in satisfaction as the man's screams turn to whimpers. His spirit is nearly broken.
Brick claps me on the back, his hand leaving bloody prints on my shirt. "Not bad for your first time," he says.
I’m no stranger to violence, but my approach usually involves knuckles and the sound of bones being crushed. Torture like this… well, it’s just a different way of getting your point across.
Before I can respond, a voice calls out from the top of the stairs.
"Are we interrupting?" Angel descends into the basement, Devon following close behind. Angel's nose wrinkles at the thick, coppery scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. Her eyes flick dismissively over the sobbing man.
Devon remains impassive, gazing at the gruesome scene with detached interest. I expected her to be more excited, but I know she has a lot on her mind. We all do.
Brick grins, clearly pleased by their arrival. "Not at all, ladies. We were just getting started. Checking out your athleisure range reminded me of how much I enjoy creating things myself…" He grabs a serrated hunting knife from the table, testing its edge with his thumb.
I step back, letting Brick take over. With practiced ease, he carves into the man's flesh, his victim's cries rising in intensity once more.
Angel circles slowly, observing Brick's work. A small, cruel smile plays on her lips.
Devon stands motionless, no hint of disgust or horror on her beautiful face.
These women understand. The Brixtons and the Snakes look after their own. And those who cross us pay the price.
Devon steps forward, her steps echoing off the concrete floor. Without a word, she picks up a pair of pliers from the table. Our captive's eyes go wide with terror as she approaches.
In one smooth motion, Devon grips his pinky finger and twists. The snap of bone echoes through the basement, followed by a raw, primal scream.
"Oh, hush now," Devon says softly. "We've only just started on you."
She drops the mangled finger and grabs the next one. I watch in fascination as she efficiently breaks each finger, her face never changing from its neutral, angelic expression.
I’ve never seen her quite like this… so composed, so utterly dark. And I’ve never been more in love.
Finally, she sets the pliers down and turns to us, brushing a strand of pink-highlighted hair from her eyes.
"Are you guys hungry?" she asks casually. "I'm starving."
Brick barks out a laugh. "I like you, Dev," he says. "You've got guts."
Devon smiles blithely, not bothered in the least by the sobbing, bleeding man before her. Without another glance at our victim, she pivots on her heel and headsfor the stairs.
"Come on. I want pancakes," she calls over her shoulder.
Angel shakes her head in amusement and follows.
Brick claps me on the back again.
"Let's go get some grub," he says.
I take one last look at the broken man chained to the wall, then turn my back and head upstairs with the others.
Devon is right.
Torture works up quite an appetite.
Chapter twelve