“No… no, never… of course not!”
“Butyou do. Youlaughed, Joo-wan,” I say. “So I think it’s time to truly give you something funny to laugh about.”
I’m known for my quick and impressive reflexes. How fast I move and can so easily catch opponents off guard.
Now is no different as Joo-wan goes from staring at me in confusion to yelping in surprise. My hand has shot out to grab him by the collar of his shirt.
I yank him forward as though he weighs less than a ragdoll. He doesn’t even understand what’s happening as I drag him toward the bed of hot coals nearby.
The same coals we typically use for branding and other punishments during ceremonies.
He doesn’t have a chance to process what’s happening before his face is being shoved down into the burning hot coals.
The sizzle is immediate, followed by his shriek of pure agony. Both fill the chamber in obscene fashion as I hold him down and he thrashes against me. His body bucks and jerks and tries desperately to escape, his hands scrabbling uselessly at my arms.
But I simply shove him down further. I press his head down deeper into the hot bed of coals and watch as the flesh melts off his face.
The smell is pungent. It’s thick and acrid, probably enough to make most people nauseous. It’s the stench of a man being cooked alive.
His screams gradually become gurgles, then whimpers, then nothing at all.
His struggles grow weaker under my unrelenting grip as the fight leaves him and he can no longer sustain the torment. His body gives a final shudder before his muscles go slack and his limbs limp.
He becomes a true ragdoll sagging against my hands.
True dead weight.
I release him and let his body crumple to the floor beside the coal bed. I straighten up and turn to face my men.
The chamber is silent. More silent than it’s ever been.
Executions are nothing new in our world. Many lieutenants and members of other ranks have been taken out in the past. Often it’s done during power struggles and transitional times of leadership.
But this… this is different.
Usually, our means are quick. A bullet to the head. Even a prompt slit to the throat, where the person dies without really knowing what’s happening.
The shock and horror that stares back at me reveals they never expected something so sudden and brutal.
Not for one of our own.
Their disbelief has no effect on me. In fact, it merely fuels my rage more. My thirst for revenge and domination.
Let them see what happens when they fail. Let them understand how crucial it is they succeed.
“Dispose of him,” I say simply. “Then get back to fucking work.”
I stride out of the chamber without looking back, leaving the smell of burned flesh as the reminder they’re next should they fail.
The apartment is dark when I return several hours later. It’s well past two in the morning, which is earlier than I’ve come back most other nights since she’s left. Some nights I don’t come home at all.
I avoid this apartment like the plague. Much like I’ve avoided many things in recent weeks.
I stand by the door for a long moment, staring into the shadows of the space that used to feel so warm.
Nothing but coldness lingers in the air now.
Monroe took the warmth—and life—with her.
