Differences

Chapter 59 - Luke

New Chapter!!! ‼️❕‼️

Warning: Blood, gore, and inappropriate language is explored within this chapter. Please read what is most comfortable for you.

Now, let's start the time for a bit of a show. And serve some justice ofc. 🤭😎

Enjoy reading this chapter!!! 🩶🖤🩶
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Leaning against the table which displayed extreme varieties of weapon's and tools that were more than capable of inflicting pain, I take a quick observation at the thing.

Since that night, we had surveillance who would listen intently and observe their movements within the organisation. It didn't take long for normal routines to be figured and what they did with dear Emiliano. About how he was patched up very nicely for his injuries and about his new and next grand plan of plotting another strike against us. Naturally, being able to suffocate him  temporary till he turned a nasty shade of purple as a way of greeting was indeed satisfying and I had repeated the action at least three times within these few hours.

Although the act of torture wasn't my highest suit, it was an art Ash has managed to perfect with his absurd nurture of not only physically destroying his victims but also mentally as he fucks up each and every victim to insanity to get the information we need. And then, die.

But now that I had him, tied up tigh with thick ropes which made it easy for him to end up on the brink cutting off circulation, his chest heaving in distress, I could see the appeal. The instant reaction. Effect. Outcome.

Especially those who believed wholeheartedly that they were invincible. Watching as they initially show determination and hope of being about to get out of here and inflicting the same amount of pain. But as time passes, with more wounds and blood shed, they gradually realise there was no hope in sight. There was none in the first place. That sort of determination was useless idea in the face of death, at least the one's we dish out. The only choice they could ever have was whether they could meet a quicker, less painful death or a gruesome, excruciatingly long agonizing death. Evidently, this scum didn't deserve a choice in the first place.

He bled profusely, swollen, in shades of purple and red, his hair mattered on his face and a sheen of sweat covered his entire forehead. He was deteriorating. Fast at that too.

Good.

It was only now did I feel even a sliver of accomplishment.

And yet, however many times I slash him, kick him, punch the daylights out of this sick fuck, it would never be enough. It would never account for all the times he had abused and tortured an innocent, vulnerable, young girl. It would never account for the scars, the wounds she had to attend to herself and the loss in a remotely normal childhood. And the consequent future plagued with fear, insecurities, and loss in physical, emotional, mental stability. It would never give Alaina her rightful childhood or early adulthood life that she had deserved. 

How a beautiful girl like her had grown up in an environment with a twisted scum like him, was something scientist should put some time aside to research on.

"How does it taste to take a small lick of your own medicine?" I interrogate, just for the sake of lengthening the process. The more suffering that thing can feel, the more befitting.

The only response I got was bloody saliva spitted supposedly towards me, followed by a grunt.

Hm, not enough.

"You realise this is nothing compared to your world of torture you have afflicted. On your niece. Not to mention other family members."

His lips move to form a smirk, while blood from his nose trickle down.

The fucker smirked.

I grab the nearest torture device left to my disposal which turned out to be a dager and threw aimlessly towards him. It landed swiftly on his left shoulder, as a new waterfall of thick red blood dripped down.

The gasp and gurgled cry was worth it.

His eyes glare at me with all the hatred he could muster. Which was everything he's got since his life was hanging by a loose thread. Literally.

"You should know best, why we like to prolong these kind of things" I say, before I decide to grab my pistol and shoot on his right knee. I give a smirk of my own. What you receive, you give back. Ten folds. Or more. That was the way I have been taught to do. It was the way us Taylor's did to maintain our name and status in our world.

The veins that aren't covered by his filthy blood on his head bulged dangerously. Maybe he would kill himself with high blood pressure. That would the world's funniest way of dying for him. How pathetic would that be? I take a moment to just observe the shrivelled, bloody mess. Very suitable might I add.

But my viewing session was abruptly interrupted by the door which opened with slight hesitation. Light bleed into the cell and those familiar loose brown curls, and matching-colored eyes met mine.

What the hell was she doing here? No, how did she even get here in the first place?

"Go back Alaina. There's nothing here worth looking at." I say, urging her to get the hell out of here.

In the background, the thing was yelling all sorts of things. I made the mental note to shove a towel or something, anything  in his mouth, so I don't need to hear his repulsive noise from it.

Loosening her clutch from the door she begins walking inside, her strides confident and steady, closer to the scum, completely disregarding my remark.

"Alaina, you need to go back. I will handle it."

"No." She says with conviction.

"Alaina-"

"No Luke. I need to do this. I need to end what I started."

I did have that idea filter through. Theoretically speaking, it was she who deserved to end this lowlife with her own hands. She deserved to inflict and sentence it to death. But what would that leave her with? It could eave her with the thought that she had killed here own family member with her own hands. That could linger on her. It was my responsibility to let her live free life. Free from the shackles of her biological family. Free from the burdens of it. Free of the responsibility.

"Alaina, you don't need to given a fraction of a second of attention to this. That thing doesn't deserve it."

"Luke, I . . . I need to end his life for mine to be set free."

Perhaps I was looking at this situation from the wrong angle. Maybe, protection wasn't what she needed. Maybe this was her form of closure?

Would it be better? Better for her if she ended it? In the way she wishes?

Shoving the gun back in my holster not taking any chances regardless of this haunting basement being our base, I close the space between her and I, breathing in her breezy ocean scent that somehow manages to clear away the metallic smell blood. She always managed to do that. Make the whole place only about her. Just her.

"Are you sure? Do you really want to do this?" I observe her features more closely, finding even for a tiny trace of hesitation or uncertainty.

I didn't. I didn't find any. If anything, she was resolute in doing this.

Determined to do this. To end this.

"Yes. I'm sure. I want to do this. I need to this."

Then, I wouldn't hold her back.