REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

"You see, Arben, I can do this all night." I dragged on the cigarette, I respired smoke in his battered, bruised face. "I am not going anywhere."

I tilt my hat to the Albanian. No matter what methodical torture methods he suffered, he will not rat on his boss.

The hunt for Flamur Bajramovic is becoming taxing.

His thirst for Alexa Haines is infuriating.

I wanted him dead and buried. Only then can she be truly safe.

"You are running out of lifelines." Removing my suit jacket, I rolled up my shirt sleeves to the elbows. "And for what? You think that boss of yours gives a flying fuck about you?"

Nate placed an axe in my hand.

"You think Bajramovic is losing sleep?" Before he responded, I banged the honed blade across his foot, tearing an agonising scream from him. Urine trickled between his hairy thighs. I kicked away his hacked flesh. "I am impressed," I said, and the men chuckled. "He took longer than most to piss his pants."

Brad adjusted Arben's shackles and, stretching his arms above, fixed him to the low ceiling until his upright position dangled from chains. "It bastard stinks." Brad nudged Arben's naked backside with his shoe. "What the fuck have you been drinking?"

Balanced on one foot, Arben swayed lethargically. His sweat-slicked body was torn to shreds. Raw, serrated lacerations oozed crimson rivulets. "Pack them," I commanded, and Nate, snapping on a pair of latex gloves, arranged essentials. "I don't want him to bleed out just yet."

Unscrewing a blue bottle, Nate doused Arben's head and body. Energised by the unexpected pain, he thrashed as burning acid melted his flesh in blistered chunks.

"Please." Scraggly hair framing his unrecognisable face, Arben whimpered for mercy. "I beg you."

I stretched leather gloves over my hands. "Begging is for cowards."

"You look a little fucked-up, Arben." Brad booted him in the stomach, the unmerciful blow knocking the wind out of his lungs. "You might want to start talking."

"Fuck you!" Adrenaline overriding excruciating discomfort, he shook the chains. "Suck on a fucking dick."

"Arben," I interjected, flipping open a switchblade. "I don't appreciate your disrespect toward my men."

Defeat consumed his pained features. "As I said," he choked, his chest heaving as he battled for breath. "Suck my fucking dick."

"You know, when I bring traitors down here, I don't torture them to get answers because like you," I pointed the blade at him, "they procrastinate, evade questioning and waste my time. All this live torture?" I gestured around the room, indicating to the men. "It's for our benefit and entertainment. It's fun, pleasurable, quite sadistic yet thrilling." I nicked his thigh with the blade's sharpest point, and his muscles bunched together. "I don't hurt, Arben," I whispered in his ear. "I make people hurt."