Chapter 43
AXEL’S POV:
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The moment my feet crossed the threshold, he began to shiver. A pitiful sight–pale, sweat–slicked skin clinging to brittle bones, his breathing uneven, like a man already teetering on the edge of the grave. The scent of rot clung to him, thick and sour, mixing with the iron tang of old blood that coated the dungeon walls.
I walked toward him, slow and deliberate, like death itself had taken human form and decided to grant him a personal visit. Because, in many ways, that’s exactly what I was offering him. A final absolution. A reckoning long overdue.
He whimpered, his wide eye darting between me and the door as if he still believed in the possibility of escape. “Please, don’t hurt me,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Forgive me. I’ll do anything you ask me to do.
They always did this–pleading, bargaining, desperate to claw their way out of damnation. But forgiveness wasn’t mine to give. And mercy? Mercy was a privilege reserved for men who still had something worth saving, Orlando Leon did not.
I shook my head, mocking him with a slow, deliberate sigh. “Look at you, Orlando. A man of prestige, of power, reduced to this.” I gestured to his mutilated form, watching the way he flinched. “All because of greed.”
I circled his chair, taking in my handiwork with satisfaction. The years had not been kind to him–not that they were meant to be. His limbs were gone, severed piece by piece. His fingers, the same ones that signed away the fates of countless innocents, now nothing but memories. One ear was missing, his right eye an empty socket that still oozed from my revenge. Every wound, every scar, every missing piece was a testament to what he’d done.
One might ask how he stayed alive despite all this. Well, Cedric was there to keep men like Orlando alive long enough to feel every ounce of what they deserved. When infection threatened to claim him, Cedric intervened. When blood loss dragged him toward unconsciousness, Cedric revived him. The point was never to kill him too soon.
No, that honor was reserved for tonight.
I crouched beside him, gripping his chin and forcing him to meet my gaze. His one remaining eye darted back and forth, his chest heaving like a dying animal’s. “Greed, Orlando. Greed made you steal from the sick and dying. Greed made you divert funds meant for life–saving treatments and hand them over to men who already had more than they’d ever need. Greed made you toss me out of that hospital, knowing damn well the government had covered my treatment.”
He shook his head wildly. “I didn’t mean to. I—I was just doing what I was told! Please, sir. I can fix this. I can make it right.”
A low chuckle rumbled through my chest. “And the people who died because of you? The children who never made it to their next birthday? Will they get a second chance?” I leaned in, my lips curling. “Will I get my eyesight back?”
The
memory hit me like a bullet to the skull, sharp and vivid. The searing pain when the metal rod pierced my right eye that night during the ‘accident‘, the sickening pop as my vision blurred into nothingness. I was a child, barely clinging to life, sprawled on a gurney in the emergency room.
The doctors had tried to save me. I remembered the frantic rush of voices and the cold press of surgical tools against my skin. “We’ll do everything we can,” they had promised. “We just need approval for the procedure.”
And that approval had rested in the hands of one man. Orlando Leon.
I spent days in that hospital, trapped in a cycle of excruciating pain and false hope. Every morning, a doctor came in, his face tight with frustration. “We’re trying,” he’d say. “But someone is blocking your treatment.”
That someone was Orlando.
Then, just as suddenly as that doctor had appeared, he was gone. A week later, his entire family was found slaughtered in their home–wife, children, even the housekeeper. A message, loud and clear.
And me? I was tossed into the streets like garbage. Left to rot with an eye that festered, an infection that nearly killed me.
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07.28 Sat, 20 Apr S
Chapter 43
But I didn’t die.
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And when I emerged from the depths, when I carved my way into power, the first thing I did was uncover the truth.
The doctor had been murdered because he was asking too many questions. Because he had fought to do what was right. And behind it all–behind every stolen dollar, every life lost, every ruined future–stood Orlando Leon, stuffing his pockets with blood money.
I had spent four years making him suffer for it. Four years of calculated manipulation, stripping him of his identity, his dignity, and his freedom. All designed to ensure he became intimately familiar with me the boy whose eyesight he had brutally destroyed.
And now, it was time for his final penance.
Orlando sobbed, his voice hoarse. “Please, I–I can help you! You don’t have to do this!”
I straightened, rolling up my sleeves, letting him see the fresh bruises covering my knuckles. Letting him understand exactly what was about to happen. I moved toward the table where my tools lay in neat, gleaming rows. Slowly, I picked up the electrocution device, running my fingers along the worn leather straps.
His breathing quickened. “No. No, please-”
“You should be grateful,” I mused, clipping the electrodes to his temples. “I could’ve let you rot in the dark. Instead, I’m giving you a chance to be purified.”
I flicked the switch.
His body jerked, every muscle seizing as raw electricity coursed through him. His shriek clawed at the walls, bouncing through the cell like a caged animal, growing weaker as his body convulsed. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air, a sharp, acrid stench that clung to my nostrils.
I let the charge run until his eye rolled back, then cut the power.
He slumped forward, his breath ragged, tears streaming down his ruined face. But I wasn’t done.
I grabbed his jaw, tilting his head back. “One last thing.”
He barely had time to react before I drove my knife into his left eye, carving deep. His screams could be heard throughout the dungeon, desperate, as I twisted the blade. Blood poured down his cheek, soaking his tattered shirt.
And then, silence.
His body trembled, lips parted, barely clinging to life.
I stepped behind him, gripping his head, my voice low. “Your sins are paid.”
The blade sliced clean across his throat. His body jerked, then stilled. The blood gushed in thick, pulsing waves, splattering my white shirt.
I exhaled, the tension easing from my shoulders as I wiped my blade clean on the clothes of the man who’d just met his end. My gaze shifted toward the door, my mind already focused on the next soul awaiting judgment. Her fate hung in the balance, her sins to be weighed and punished – or forgiven.
I walked into Avery’s cell, the dim light illuminating the fragile form curled on the thin mattress. She was oblivious to the blood drying on my skin, a grim reminder of the life I’d just taken. I leaned against the doorframe, my voice low and even, but with a sharp edge that cut through the silence.
“Break time’s over, Avery,” I said, my tone devoid of emotion. “Get up.”
07:28 Sat, 26 Apr ms.
Chapter 43
Avery’s body stiffened, her eyes snapping open like a trapped animal. For a moment, she just stared, her gaze searching mine for a glimmer of mercy. Then, slowly, she sat up, her movements hesitant, like a puppet on a string.
AD
