16| 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚒 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

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The mind is a tricky place to keep sane.

Especially when insanity keeps pulling you into its rabbit hole every passing minute. Especially when there's something called fuckery of mind and people who master at the art.

They call him Bartholomew. The captives think he is the safest option compared to Pugsley and the others who resort to fatal violence. But they don't see what I do, they don't keep track of the fact that everyone who returns from Bartholomew's torture chamber takes their own life.

I always wanted to go there. Into that torture chamber, test how much more messed I could become. I used to wonder, what if I mastered Bartholomew's method? What if I used it on him, on all of them? The thought of watching them take their own life, killing themselves with the same weapons they used on others, gave me a sick sense of pure satisfaction.

But. . .when they dragged Kai into the torture chamber today, was the thing I felt dread? Because all I thought was; I was supposed to be there. I was prepared to go there. Kai. . .never was.

~ from the journal entries of Daisy

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☘︎ Eᴠᴇ Kᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ ☘︎

Here's the thing; there's no universal fact stating that if a killer is at a foreign land for committing murder, they can't enjoy a vacation at the same time. I mean, look at me, I happen to be having the time of my life.

When we'd descended from the yacht onto the Bali port's docks, I'd very near whistled at the two Ferrari F8 Spider in red and yellow colors waiting for us. I'd almost considered driving one of the beauties. But then Tori settled in the yellow car accompanied by our tour guide and I was left with Axel who had already gotten behind the wheels of the red car.

So now with the wind howling in my ears, hair like whips slashing against my face. I throw my head back and extend my arms in a titanic pose, enjoying the exhilarating thrill of the open-shed car ride while Axel drives in the direction of the resort we'd be residing at.

"You should settle down, Miss Eve." Axel asserts in a half-baked attempt for what seems to be the thousandth time.

Popping open an eye, I glance at his enchanting form spread across the leather seat-the black shirt he wore buttoned to the top and his black slacks stretching across his slightly parted thighs, his forearm gripping the steering wheel and turning it in attune to the mountain road's circular turns. Lush green trees pass in my peripheral, the sound of waves clashing against rocky cliffs creating a tropical wonderland.

A grin pulling at my lips, I ask coyly, "On your lap?"

Axel's gaze meets mine for a split second, long lashes sweeping in a single blink before he shakes his head and focuses back on the road, completely giving up on convincing me to sit down. He's done with my inappropriate comments at this point.

Especially when I know I'd very near kissed him the previous night, probably been way too honest and told him some very scandalous things in my partial drunken stupor too. But he'd still held me all night, made sure I didn't do something stupid and let me rest on him like a sloth.

When I woke up in the morning though, Axel was awake, his arms still securely around my waist but his piercing gaze watching me in deep observation. I'd glanced up from his chest and grinned at him with half-lidded eyes and possibly resembled the walking dead, but his lips had twitched the slightest before he'd lifted me off his lap, set me on my feet informing me that we'd be reaching the Bali port in an hour and took off towards his room in the yacht.

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