BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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___ I FIX MY gaze on the old man, slumped unconscious and bound to the wooden chair. Turning my head, I reach for the steaming kettle, its bubbling water hissing within. Holding it firmly, I step toward Luis, my mind blank, the kettle in my grip.
Without hesitation, I raise the kettle above his head and tilt my wrist, releasing the scalding water onto his skin. He jolts awake with a piercing screech, the sound echoing as I let the boiling water trail from his face down to his shoulders and torso.
His screams grow louder, but I merely roll my eyes. Unbothered, I drag a chair forward and sit directly in front of him, watching his agony unfold.
"Ah, there you are," I say, settling into the chair across from him. "I was starting to think you'd sleep through all the fun."
As his screams rip through the room, I roll my eyes, the sound more grating than the noise of nails on a chalkboard. My lips curl into a sneer as I loosen my tie, yanking it off with a slow, deliberate motion.
He doesn't deserve haste. With a flick of my wrist, I shove the tie into his mouth, muffling his pathetic cries.
I lean in close, my voice a low, venomous growl. "I beg of you," I hiss, my breath hot against his ear, "shut your damn trap before I make you wish you'd never been born."
His teary eyes widen in terror, shimmering with a desperation that makes me laugh—a dark, hollow sound that echoes through the room like a death knell. Sympathy?
He's hoping for sympathy?
My smile sharpens, twisting into something cruel. "You're crying now? Where were those tears when Veronica screamed your name? Where was your pity then?" I snarl, my words dripping with rage.
He thrashes weakly, his muffled sobs grating against my patience. Slowly, I rise and stalk across the room, each step deliberate, each movement calculated.
The bucket of ice sits in the corner, gleaming in the dim light like a cruel promise. I lift it with ease, turning back to face him.
"You know," I begin, my tone calm, almost friendly, "people like you are funny. So tough when it's someone else's pain. But when it's your skin burning, your flesh freezing..." I let the words trail off, savoring the way his body stiffens in dread.
I stand over him, holding the bucket aloft, and tilt it ever so slightly. Ice spills out in a glimmering cascade, shattering onto his bloodied, blistered skin. His body convulses violently, a garbled scream ripping from his throat.
I crouch down, watching the chaos in his eyes, my own expression cold, unfeeling.
I crouch down, leaning in close to meet the chaos swirling in his eyes, my expression as cold and lifeless as a winter storm.
His muffled whimpers slip through the tie I stuffed into his mouth, but I barely acknowledge them. My patience has worn razor-thin.
"Shut your fucking mouth," I growl, the words laced with venom.
