Page 192 of Sins of the Hidden

I pressed a finger against his shattered jaw, applying precise pressure to the broken bone as I leaned in closer. "I can't feel your pain. But it's real." I moved the letter opener to his stomach, letting it rest there. "If I cut you open, would I see it?"

His body shook beneath the blade. "I don't understand," he gasped through broken teeth. "Who are you?"

"I'm Oakley's husband." I took the decanter of bourbon from his side table. "And I kill anyone who makes her feel anything less than beautiful."

"W-What are you going to do?" he whispered, eyes tracking me as I tucked the stethoscope into my pocket and retrieved my bat. I poured the alcohol in a trail around the bed, connecting back to where I stood at the doorway.

I struck a match against the doorframe and tossed it onto the alcohol-soaked carpet. Flames erupted instantly, racing along the liquid trail, catching the curtains, the bedding, everything I'd prepared. The doctor screamed and thrashed against his silk restraints as the fire climbed the walls.

"W-Wait! You can't just leave me here!"

I picked up my bat and walked out, locking the bedroom door from outside with the key I'd found on his dresser. Fire would erase the evidence, leaving only ashes and unanswered questions. I hadn't wanted Law or Chet to come inside with me. If anything was left behind, it would only trace back to me. Never to the club. Never to her.

Outside, Law watched from the van as orange light began to flicker behind the second-story windows. His face remained impassive as I climbed back into the van, bat in hand.

The smoke began to escape through the cracks. "Did he hurt her too?"

I remained quiet, looking at him. He closed his eyes with a sigh, giving me a respectable nod before driving away.

Five murders in one day–not my best but it would do.

Inside the house, fire alarms began to sound—high, insistent wailing that would alert neighbors, but not in time to save the man inside.

Law stared at the flames, jaw tight.

We drove in silence. Chet at the wheel, Law staring out the window, and me watching the glow of doctor dicks house disappear in the flames through the mirror.

We reached Hellbound with our cargo. Tires crunched over gravel as Chet drove around to the front door. Inside my head, fragments of Oakley's confession replayed. I remembered each tear that fell as she told me. The tremors in her hands. How she couldn't meet my eyes. Like she was fucking ashamed of herself.

Hellbound's basement loomed dark as we descended. Ancient wooden stairs groaned beneath our weight. Water dripped, each drop a metronome counting seconds until judgment.

The crematorium radiated silently, waiting. Its blackened facade had absorbed years of bodies, holding memories of what had been fed inside. Brick door hanging open like a hungry mouth. Heat shimmered around the oven, bending the room into distorted shapes.

The basement had been my home for years before Oakley. The concrete floor had been my bed, the distant drip of water my lullaby that barely kept my sanity in check.

Four chairs arranged in a circle, facing inward—heavy wooden ones with sturdy arms, perfect for restraints. Against the far wall sat a metal gurney with leather straps, positioned within pushing distance of the crematorium's mouth. The apparatus I'd built for occasions like this, when suffering needed precision.

We arranged the semi-conscious men in the chairs, securing them with zip ties. Each one bleeding, terrified, fully aware of what was happening.

Just how I wanted them. I loved playing with my toys.

I walked slowly around them, their fear palpable as they realized what was about to happen.

“Betcha wondering why you’re here today,” Chet grinned when all the attention turned to him. “You motherfuckers can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

My bat scrapped the concrete floor as I dragged it behind me walking in circles around them. “You hurt my fucking wife.”

Karson gulped. “W-Who?”

“You knew them better than anyone, Karson.” Law’s voice was steady, but the red blooming on his face showed me he wasabout to lose his shit. “My daughter, Oakley. Her best friend Anne.”

Karson's eyes locked on him, his mouth opened, but no sound came. Understanding dawned in their eyes, horror blooming as they realized there would be no mercy.

Chet worked silently, stoking the heat in the furnace. The rake scraped against brick and coal, sending sparks spiraling upward each time he thrust it deeper into the glowing mass. His face illuminated in stark relief with each movement—angles and edges catching fire glow, his usual smirk replaced by focused concentration. Law's shirt collar darkened with sweat as the light transformed the scene—painting us all in shades of orange and red.

I moved toward Tyler without a word. His expensive shirt darkened with sweat, revealing each panicked breath. Chet noticed my approach, glancing between me and Tyler. "Which one are we starting with?"

I didn't answer. Just cut Tyler's zip ties and hauled him upright.

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