Life Is A Living Hell

Chapter 40 The Devil (rewritten)

Diplomacy is the art of telling
people to go to hell in such a way that
they ask for directions.
—Aleron Kong
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Antonio Romano

I parked my car outside a house that was on the edge of falling down. The bricks were old and broken. The dead grass in the yard was covered with a thin layer of snow. Mateo had no neighbours; the nearest house was ten miles away. Which was good.

My men were surrounding the house.

The dark wooden door was wide open, waiting for me to enter.

"Boss, he's where you ordered," one of my men said as I stepped inside.

"Good." The hall had plain, white walls and wooden floors. No decorations, no family pictures on the walls—not that I expected that. The inside of the house was as depressing as the outside, the condition was the same. Old and broken. If you drove past it, you would think it was haunted. That something unholy lived here. Funny enough, an abounded church was built a yard away from the house. Then I guess that was true, that when God builds a church, the Devil builds a chapel next door.

And I just entered the devil's chapel.

I headed to the kitchen. There on the kitchen floor was Mateo bound to a chair, he had a cloth smashed into his mouth.

"He was screaming like a little girl, gave us a headache," a guard said when he saw my eyes lingered on Mateo's mouth.

I smirked. Mateo's bemused eyes found me.

"Do you know who I am?" I questioned with a cold smirk as I walked closer to him. His eyes dilated, and he nodded reluctantly.

"Good." A satisfied grin took over my face. "I bet you don't know why I'm here." He shook his head as he attempted to talk. Eventually, he managed to spit out the cloth.

"I swear I haven't done anything. I have tried to stay out of your business since I knew your name. I—" he blurted out with his raspy voice before I stopped him.

"But here's the case; you have." I pocketed my hands inside my slacks. Strolling closer to him, I towered over him.

"Do you remember Olivia's mother, your wife? Do you recall what happened to your dead wife?" I gazed down at his weak, fearful eyes. He peered down at his disgusting Santa belly.

"Answer me," I growled through my clenched teeth.

"W-what, yes?" He murmured reluctantly, puzzled.

"Then you know how she died, how you killed her in front of Olivia." He looked more puzzled than before. Poor bastard didn't know what awaited him. He didn't know whether he should lie or tell the truth. Apparently, he knew lying to me was not a good option, he didn't want to face my wrath.

"Yeah?" He mumbled hoarsely, still confused. Yeah? Was that all he could say after he just admitted that he killed his own wife in front of his daughter? Like it wasn't a big deal.

Oh, fuck, I'm going to relish killing him.

"So, tell me, are you familiar with the saying eye for an eye?" I beckoned for my nearest man to bring me my equipment. I was done dancing around the subject, I merely wanted to tear him apart limb by limb.

Usually, I wasn't the one who interrogated or tortured, that was Colt. He lived for that shit. The only time I did it was if it was someone important.

Mateo's muddled eyes followed the tray until it stopped by my side. My gaze followed Mateo's alert eyes to the various sizes of knives.

"W-what're you doing? I swear, I haven't meddled with your business. I-I haven't done anything," he stammered as he tried to free himself from the rope around his hands behind him.

"Yes, you have! You broke something that is mine, you broke someone that's mine!" Growling out the last word, I threw a punch at his mouth, breaking his teeth.

"And now... I'm going to break you." I punched his throat. He began to cough out blood and his teeth.

"No, please. I-I can give you money." He pleaded feebly.

"You mean the money you got when you sold Olivia?" Grunting, I leisurely unbuttoned my shirt and gave it to the guard.

"Is all this about her, that whore?" he spat out with a sneer. I clenched my jaw.

You better watch your mouth.

"How is that possible? I sold her to Joseph; how does that slut concern you?" he uttered with odium. I punched his mouth harder than before, silencing him. The familiar thick, dark red fluid covered my knuckles.

"You did not only kill her mother, you killed a part of her. And I will gladly make you pay with your life." I grabbed his hand and bent it backwards, breaking it with a loud crack. He cried out in agony.

"There's just one thing bothering me. The fact that you won't have nightmares of me slowly killing you." I gritted my teeth. "Only if you could have nightmares even though you were dead. On the other hand, you don't need to agonise. When I come to hell, I'll do this all over again." I broke his other hand, loving the loud sound it made. He screamed again like a little girl. Ugly, big, fat tears ran down his wrinkly cheeks.

Fuck. His eyesight went out of whack. This scumbag had a low tolerance for pain. He was going to die sooner than I wanted. I had to speed up this torture if I didn't want him to die because of two broken hands. I had so much more planned for him.

"Talk time is over. Do you have any last words?" I smirked. Before he could utter a word, I stabbed his throat, not so he would die from the impact, just so he'd shut the fuck up.

He gasped, unable to speak. "Thought so." I was about to cut off his ears but thought against it. I wanted him to hear his own agony the same way Leah heard her mother's. I wanted him to hear and see his fate. Instead, I sliced open his thigh and spat into the open wound.

"Oh, I'll enjoy this." My mouth curved into an unholy smirk.

The rest of my evening was filled with screams, cries, tears, blood, agony, smiles, smirks and laughter.

Only the devil could cause someone pain with relish. That had all those forced attendees to the church taught me.

Then I guess I was the devil. 

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