A low growl escapes me, vibrating against her lips, letting her know just how fucking frustrated I am.
When I finally release her, shoving her back with enough force to see the wide-eyed look on her face, she doesn’t back off. That faint smile still plays on her lips before she curls into me, pulling her knees up and resting her head beneath my chin, like nothing happened, like everything is just as it should be.
We sit in silence, our eyes locked on the fuckers behind the glass, squirming in pain.
“What happens now?” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost like a challenge.
Without saying a word, my finger presses a button, and their door swings open automatically, their limbs released at the same time. They freeze, confusion written across their faces before they rip the gags from their mouths, blindly reaching for each other in a frantic scramble.
She giggles against me, her blood-slicked palm gliding over my bare chest beneath the open leather jacket, and I breathe in deep, letting the sensation sear into me.
On the other side of the glass, they stumble like newborn animals, pathetic and unsighted, palms slapping against the walls, fingers scraping over the surface, desperate for something or anything that feels like an escape.
But then they find each other, clinging like life itself depends on it. Shaking and whispering, inching forward in the dark with nothing but fear guiding them.
Aurelia and I look up at the screens, our faces lit by the glow as we watch them take their first steps deeper into The Death Rooms. I feel her smile curve against my jaw, and my own blood begins to thrum with anticipation.
I press another button, locking the door behind them, and they flinch at the sound, spinning around like hunted prey.
I’ve seen this live show play out a thousand times growing up. I used to sneak in here with Hell and Soul, watching from this very room. Sometimes we’d even do jump scares on Dark Night when we were in our late teens, when we were really fucking ruthless and wild.
We’d shove people through doors or taunt them so horrifically they’d throw them fucking selves into death’s arms.
It’s one of the more grotesque amusements we offer around here. But even that doesn’t compare to what waits inside The Steel Casket.
That place… it’s different. Even we don’t go near it.
When they start fumbling with locked doors, confusion written all over their faces, Aurelia turns to me, her golden eyes glinting.
“They’re locked?” she asks, curiosity curling at her lips.
“Wonna play with them a bit first…” I suggest, eyes fixed on the screens. “…get them fucking running?”
Her smile spreads slow and wide, and I know she’s into it. She digs the dark thrill as much as I do, and my red gaze seems to lock onto her, feeding off it.
I pass her the remote, and she glances down at it, then gently takes it from my hand like she’s handling something sacred.
I point to three buttons.
Glass. Nails. Metal.
Each is one connected to slots hidden within the black walls—loaded with those materials. They’re not designed to kill, just to shred. They’re aimed low, so they’ll hit legs, feet or thighs to give just enough pain to kick up the panic and make them bolt. It’s a fucking game. A psychological war.
The more they run, the deeper they go, the more doors they open to find an exit that isn’t available, and that’s when, the get closer to their own demise.
Aurelia hovers her finger over the first button, smiling like a goddamn angel of death. She presses down onNails, and both our eyes flick up to the screen.
In an instant, thin metal spikes shoot from the corridor walls, fast, sharp, and brutal, burying themselves deep in their calves, thighs, and ankles like little bullets. Their shrieks echo through the hallway, high-pitched and panicked. Blood spatters the walls, their bodies jerking as they stumble forward.
The moment they start running, blinded by pain, Aurelia lets out a loud, unhinged laugh, her head tilted back.
She’sthriving—and I can’t take my fucking eyes off her.
Her finger hovers over theMetalbutton, but she doesn’t press it just yet. She’s enjoying the chaos too much and soaking in their panic.
One of the brothers stumbles, blood trailing behind him, trying to drag the other with him, but the weight of their wounds are far too much.
They split, running in opposite directions, driven by the pure urge to escape, even if they can’t see where the fuck they’re going. The one on the left veers toward a door, scraping his hands along the walls, but every movement is erratic.
