My hand squeezes him so hard no air enters his lungs, making him thrash his head from side to side. His face becomes red, and his eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. He tries to evade my grip, but the ringing in my ears has started, and I tighten my hold on him one last time before stepping back.

James gulps for breath, pissing himself in the process and then erupting in tears, his sobs bouncing off the walls and overpowering the music.

He croaks, “Please, Remi. I’m begging for mercy.” His rigid breathing fills the space as I stroll to the weapon table, wondering which one to use next, but James plays on my nerves, almost pleading for me to do the opposite and kill him right now. “You aren’t like us.”

“True. I’m not.” Adjusting the gloves on my hands, I grab the salt and a steel blade reflecting the ceiling lamp before turning back to focus my stare on him. He presents a pathetic view, glued to the pole, his feet sliding under him while the blood from open wounds mixes with the urine soaking his pants. “I’m way worse.”

With this, I spill salt on his chest, grinning at the loud screams and groans as the salt adds more pain than he already has. The agony will send him into a spiral of madness from where no man comes out alive.

“One day, I should record you all. A little souvenir to remember you by.” He opens his mouth, ready to spit more bullshit in order to save his ass, but it changes into a desperate, pain-filled, hoarse shout when I slice the blade across his dick, cutting it off and causing more blood to pour and create a pool at his feet; but the man still has the ability to shout. “Weakness doesn’t suit you, James.” Tears stream down his cheeks, his mouth opened wide, while the barely visible pulse indicates to me he’s still alive. His wounds should bring him extreme discomfort but not kill him.

Oh, no.

None of them deserves a kind death.

Taking out the blade, I slide the tip over his chest to the collarbone and shift toward the neck. The light cuts leave imprints on the skin as I debate the perfect place for my next target, careful to avoid all the important arteries.

After all, where would be the fun in that?

“Stop.”

“Your voice is starting to annoy me, James. So either shut up or I’m gonna cut off your tongue.”

“Remi, please.”

Sighing heavily, I bring the blade to his mouth and announce, “Cutting it is.”

He shakes his head when I raise my hand to catch his tongue, mumbling quickly, “The boss. Do you know about the boss?” I pause, and he licks his lips, elaborating, clearly thinking he has found a gold mine. “He issued the order. We just executed it. He’s to blame.” He whimpers when I put the knife on his belly button, the tip digging hard into the skin, almost piercing it. “Please, Remi.”

“I might consider it.” He freezes at my words. Leaning his head forward a bit, the blood from his nose drips on the blade. “You have to answer my question first though.” My voice becomes low and dangerous, barely contained anger lacing every word, because the idea of this man even for a second hoping he might escape my clutches creates a pool of rage within me. “How many times have you shown mercy toward those who begged you to spare them?”

Panic flashes on his face, and tears form once again in his eyes, his lips wobbling, and he whispers, “Please, Remi.” I pull my arm back and deliver a blow to his mouth, knocking out some of his teeth.

Fisting his hair, I tilt his head back, and his eyes blink several times to focus on me, but then they close as his body catches up with his condition. The adrenaline rushing through his veins now must still block most of it, though, because he’s still standing and awake. My gaze lands on my wristwatch. “I wish I had more time to play with you, James, but life has other plans.”

Revenge is a powerful force urging me to torture in order to deliver payback in the most vicious way, ensuring their great suffering before the gates of hell welcome the rotten souls in.

However, no revenge could be more important than my goals.

Since James has no strength to reply, I march to my weapon table and wipe off the blade, putting it back in its rightful place. Then I take off my gloves, throwing them in the nearest trash can, and go straight to the bar, grabbing a whiskey bottle and pouring some into a glass.

“Thank you,” James whispers, judging by how his lips move.

Dropping a few ice cubes into my glass, I shake it a little and address him. “Why are you thanking me, James?” He mumbles something, but I no longer give a fuck what he has to say. “The best part is about to come. Send my warmest regards to the devil, James. May your soul fucking never know peace.”

I snap my fingers, and instantly darkness settles over the dungeon; small lights illuminate the floor around us from different corners, creating an illusion of fireflies floating in the air.

My dungeon is considered simple compared to those my friends have. Impressing my victims has never interested me much, and besides, as long as it suits my needs, it works just fine.

The most fascinating fact about the place where evilness rules is that I designed it myself, spending months paying attention to the smallest details and dumping a lot of money into it.

However, the end result has been worth it.

“Glance down, James,” I order the fucker, and he shifts his head obediently. His eyes widen in shock, and his body trembles; perhaps he already suspects his future.

The floor slowly changes color, the transparent glass showcasing the view of the small tropical heaven below—thick trees with the longest green leaves, stones in different shapes, and an endless amount of space covered with grass.

For a second, everything else is invisible, whispering to one to lower his guard and admire the natural beauty. But that’s a short-lived security blanket as a green creature slides through the trees, wrapping herself around branches, her eyes flashing a little, and her tongue peeking out. She halts her movements, probably recognizing the vibrations, as the section above the pole opens and lowers the platform toward the little tropical land.