The Lions Den

Chapter Eight: When the Lions Speed Stampers

Matteo

It had been a damning six days and obscene amount of hours since I'd last saw Kashera, and I knew that I was a walking incarceration of all that Satan wished he could be on this Earth. Anyone who so much as breathed the wrong way in my presence caught absolute hell. The men who didn't get killed in the car chase were being held, and although they were alive, it was only by a thread.

At least such was the impending case for the wasted soul trapped hanging up by his broken arms before me.

Over the span of the week I had ordered for the most useless of the men to be tortured to the brink just to have them pulled back again for my own sadistic amusement. They knew that they were nothing of importance to me. They were mere disposable pawns in a made mans game. And as I'd found, some of them were only hoping to be made, and not quite in any official stature within their Family.

Most of them except one.

The bastard before me was made, and it was his responsibility to ensure this hit on me was successful. It was obvious that he wasn't by his current placement, but he still knew more than most, and that made him an asset for the next few minutes. He'd been defiant to the other men who'd been torturing him. Taking their snaps of his bones. Enduring the beatings they'd imposed. Yet, even he knew that today would be much more different, gruesome even, once my predatory frame staled into the dungeon. I was going to break him, and then I was going to kill him.

Or maybe I'd have him sedated on the drive to Savanah just to drown him in the ocean. His blood depleted, limbs burned and missing and broken, but still he'd be alive enough to feel the water expanding his lungs to burst as air became but a fragment of a near memory.

The thought of that brought a smile to my face as I looked on deranged at him.

"I'm tired of looking at you waste the air within this place," I said in low Italian as I laid reclined in the seat tossing the butcher knife with ease in the air before catching it. "So how about you tell me what I want to know so we can get on with our lives, yes?" I finished. He dared to glare at me before he spit on the floor before me.

"I don't know anything. Go to hell with your weak threats. Just like your men you won't do shit I can't heal from," He hissed at me. I looked blankly at him before I folded over in deep laughter. Once I reeled myself in, I chuckled once more before I let the knife float through the air. Shortly thereafter his screams filled the air as the knife lodged in his side and his blood flowed freely onto the floor.

I walked to him and grabbed his hair twisting it tightly bringing his tearful pathetic face back to look at me.

"Let's try this again, but this time act like you have a clue as to who the fuck I am," I spat before I backhanded him. His eyes rolled as he panted.