I turn to Saint as he stares at me expectantly. “Get him ready.”
41
Indie
my songs know what you did in the dark (light em up) - fall out boy
Goosebumpsareripplingoverevery inch of my skin. Even with my thick hoodie and leggings on, the damp air still manages to seep through to my bones.
It’s definitely not the winter chill making its way down here; it’s death.
It leaks from the walls of the Pit’s cells, turning the air potent. Its screams have been captured within the hallway.
Conrad is chained up in the very end room. There’s only four in this basement, but they’re big. Where his was built to trap as many souls as possible, Saint’s are to give the illusion of freedom.
Most people die at Ultio’s hand. Only the ones they promise to release after getting them the information they need are brought down here.
Though I’ve been told none of them ever made it out.
The handle of the knife bites into the palm of my hand, my knuckles bleached white with the grip I have on it. I drag the air in through my burning lungs one last time, pulling in the darkness I hope I no longer need to call upon after this.
I don’t need it anymore; there’s no one to hunt down.
The end of the road sits just a few feet beyond me.
So I plead with evil, asking him to send me his sickest, most deranged parts of him, and course it through my veins.
I’m surprised when Saint doesn’t appear by my side.
A small part will still remain within me—it’s just who I am now, weaved into the person I had to become to survive. It won’t be needed for its initial purpose. I’ll keep that secret part for my own devil.
When I step up towards the cell door, my eyes are slow to open, and I’m confident they’re dipped in black.
Conrad is strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. His hands are now chained from the ceiling to hold them out in front of him, the podium Saint had made removed for my arrival. Locks of dark hair cover his face as his head is slumped forward, likely sleeping.
Every so often, an alarm sounds down here when he thinks he’s getting some peace. He’s a fucking idiot if he’s ever getting that from us.
From me.
I swing the key in a circle on my index finger from my free hand, the other letting the blade drag along the bars slowly. The clank of metal hitting steel claps through the basement.
His head rolls upwards, and what a sight he is to see. It brings a smile to face. His bare chest is a chaotic pattern of dark blues and musty yellows, rippled and angry red lines where metal has sliced through flesh.
Tally marks are sliced into his chest all the way down his legs, one for every woman Saint and Rex made him confess toharming. When I notice Saint and I’s name is carved into each one of his arms, it sends a wicked streak through me.
He’s been held here for over a month, Saint delivering just enough damage to make his life hell, but keeping him alive. Kyle comes in after Saint and Rex have had their hands on him, making sure the evil shit doesn’t die on us early.
I unlock the cell, kicking it open, and my hateful gaze locks with his empty one. This time, I don’t cower.
I don’t show vulnerability.
I don’t even flinch.
This time I’m in charge of the fear that festers between us.
Conrad tries and fails to wet his chapped and cracked lips, revealing his broken teeth. “Sending the woman to finish me off. Pathetic.”
My chuckle skids off the walls, running back to caress along my skin. “A woman brought you into this world, Conrad. It’s only right one takes you out.”
