Simon was unconscious. His body hung limp in the cold metal chair, head lolling forward, blood soaking the once-white shirt plastered to his chest. His right hand, or what was left of it, bled profusely, leaving thick red streaks trailing down his wrist, dripping onto the floor.
The iron door groaned open with a screech, its echo bouncing off the concrete walls. A man stepped inside, holding a dented metal bucket sloshing with ice-cold water.
"Pour the cold water on him," came the voice.
The man obeyed without hesitation.
The splash was violent.
The water hit Simon like a thunderbolt, shocking his system back to life. He gasped, convulsing in the chair, his eyes snapping open wide. Confusion, panic, and pain swirled in them as he struggled to comprehend where he was or what had happened.
"Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?" Alex Moretti's voice rang out, laced with mockery. He emerged from the shadows, dressed immaculately in black, every inch the devil in a tailored suit.
Simon blinked up at him, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He winced, tried to move but then looked down.
He froze.
A beat passed.
And then...screaming.
"MY HAND! MY HAND! OH GOD, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
The realization hit him like a truck. His right hand was gone, clean off. Only bloodied gauze and raw flesh remained. He thrashed, screaming louder, raw terror echoing in every cry.
"Shut him up," Alex ordered coolly, unfazed by the horror before him.
A guard stepped forward and shoved a towel into Simon's mouth, muffling the screams into desperate, choked sobs.
"Finally, some peace." Alex sighed, stepping closer. He crouched slightly, tilting his head to examine the pathetic mess Simon had become. "You always thought you were untouchable, didn't you?"
He straightened and turned to the guard. "Apply the hydrogen peroxide. Stop the bleeding. I don't want him dead… yet."
The guards exchanged a look, then got to work. One uncapped a bottle and poured it directly onto the mangled stump.
Simon screamed.
Or tried to.
His entire body jerked violently against the restraints, legs kicking out, back arching. The peroxide hissed as it met the open wound, fizzing and bubbling, biting deep into flesh. He writhed, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, but the towel silenced his agony into pained, guttural gasps.
The guards didn't care. They worked without hesitation, pressing down hard to stop the bleeding. Each touch was rough, mechanical, stripping Simon of even the tiniest shred of dignity.
Alex watched it all, expression unreadable.
He finally stood up, his voice calm and firm. "Make sure he doesn't pass out. I want him awake through all of this. And no one feeds him. No food. No water. Nothing. I'll be back tomorrow."
He turned to Simon, whose face was now red, slick with sweat, blood, and tears and locked eyes with him.
"Have a good night," Alex said, voice soft but dripping with venom. And with that, he walked out of the room.
Outside the warehouse, the night was still and cold. The stars blinked above, indifferent to the sins happening below. Alex paused, his breath visible in the night air.
He looked up at the sky, eyes narrowed.
"She didn't even call to check on me..." he muttered, voice tight.
His hand curled into a fist at his side.
Ariel.
Even after everything, after Simon, after the betrayal, she hadn't called. Not a text. Not a whisper. The silence was louder than any scream Simon had made.
His chest ached in a way no enemy's bullet ever had.
"She chose him," he whispered bitterly. "After everything… she still chose him."
Shaking his head, Alex slipped into his black Maserati, the engine rumbling to life like a beast waking up. He didn't go home. He couldn't bear to. Not to that apartment that still smelled faintly of her perfume.
Instead, he drove in silence to a five-star hotel downtown.
He needed time to think.
Time to plan.
Time to decide what to do… with the girl who still owned his heart, and the man whose screams weren't even close to payment enough.