Page 5 of Brutal Mercy

My eyelids flutter, trying to stay open, but the agonizing pain has stolen the last bits of strength from my body. I suck in a ragged breath and stare into the most intense eyes I’ve ever encountered. They’re the palest crystal blue eyes, broadcasting immense power, the likes of which steal the remaining strength from my body.

I pass out in the shelter of his arms, the deep notes of his amber and opium cologne surrounding me.

Chapter two

Hades

Wipingbloodoffmyhands, I stare at the asshole who thought he could steal from me.

Brad Thompson.

Balding, with a decent beer gut, he’s already pissed his pants. And by the smell coming from him, I think he shit himself too. Most do when it comes down to it. When they know they’re about to die. The squeal and blather for a god they’ve never truly believed in to save them. But I’m the King of Torture and have made an art form out of tormenting people for information.

The slimy fucker was hired to help transport our less-than-aboveboard products. And this idiot thought he could skim cash off the top of everything he sold. Biggest fucking mistake of his life. No one steals from me and lives to tell the tale. Son of a bitch doesn’t realize that I am his judge, jury, and executioner. Brad Thompson will not leave this building alive.

And I’ve already taken my pound of flesh. Cuts leak blood all over his fleshy form. I’ve carved him up just enough to keep him alive and in excruciating pain. His nose is broken and bleeding. His lips are split. And the terror in his one open eye—the other is burned shut and leaking—he understands he tangled with the devil, and it fills me with sick glee. It’s fucking twisted as shit and makes me mental. Like I give a fuck.

The first time I tortured and killed someone, I was seventeen. My father gave me the knife to carry out the sentence. I still own that knife. It’s one of my favorites to use on people.

“Who else was part of the theft ring?” It’s all I want to know. Once he gives me the information I want, I’ll put him out of his misery and end his sorry existence.

“Just Milo and Dave. Milo came up with the idea. Said we’d only take a little and you would never notice. I swear I will pay every penny back. I just need some time. Please don’t kill me.”

“I think you mistake me for someone who gives a shit about your pathetic existence.” At my caustic response, he openly weeps. His body trembles with the force of his terror and the pain I’ve exacted. Some bosses hand off this kind of thing to their subordinates. But I think it makes them soft. And there’s a perverse satisfaction I receive from doing the job myself.

Does it make me a sick motherfucker? Sure.

Do I give a shit? Not in the slightest.

I live my life by my rules. As the head of the Massimo crime family, my word is law. And anyone who crosses me gets annihilated. Just like good old Brad has discovered.

“At least face your maker like a man. Any other tidbits you want to pass along?”

“That’s all. I swear,” he blubbers.

“Hades.” I glance at my brother Ares. He’s my second in command and four years younger. His black buzz cut makes him appear harder and more terrifying, which I’ve always thought is good for business. Makes men less likely to fuck with the Massimo family. Of the two of us, I’m the more refined one, while Ares is fucking feral.

We don’t normally bring men to our house to torture and kill. But when he was picked up by Ares, I couldn’t get away to our private facility where we dispose of problems. It’s located forty miles away, even deeper in the mountains.

But it’s why I had the shed built here at the compound. Above ground, this building looks like its name and is where I store my snowmobiles. Except there’s secret access to an elevator that takes me below ground. Then there is a long tunnel into the mountain leading to secure airlock-tight rooms that can only be accessed with handprint and eye scanner technology. It’s where we hold people I intend to torture for information.

Brad’s face is mottled with bruises. Each of his fingernails was removed. One hand will never work right again with the way I crushed it, and it hangs limp as a noodle. The rest of him is a wealth of bruises, cuts, missing skin, and broken limbs. His feet have been burned to a crisp. The skin is bubbled and peeled.

“Yes?”

Ares holds out his phone. “You need to take this. It’s Gio. There’s an issue at the front gate.”

Fucking A. I sigh. There is always something clamoring for my attention. Never a dull moment around here. Taking the phone from him, I instruct my brother with a nod toward Brad, “He’s of no more use to us. Finish him. This bastard has told us everything he knows. Make sure you dispose of his body. When you’re done taking out the trash, send our men to pick up those other two pricks who thought they could steal from us and take them to our other facility. I want you to deal with them.”

“With pleasure.” Ares doesn’t smile. But we’re on the same page when it comes to assholes like the soon-to-be departed Brad.

I walk a short distance away. “Gio, what’s the situation?”

“Sir, we’ve got a lone woman running toward the gate.”

A woman in the middle of the mountains on her own? Color me intrigued. “I’ll be right up. Don’t do anything until I arrive and can assess the situation.”

“Yes, sir.”

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