Redemption (The Bet) (42 page)

"Ok, serious question now," she rested her arms on the table, pulled herself onto her knees on the chair and leaned across the table. "Who's better, Nicholas or Devlin?"

Ellie's face bloomed crimson. "Maddie!" she screamed, mortified.

Maddie laughed. "I kid...I kid." she waved her hands to the air to ward Ellie from throwing something else at her. "Sorry, okay. I promise to be serious now. But honestly there isn't anything I can tell you that you don't already know yourself."

Blush receding, Ellie was able to continue the conversation without a nosebleed, "Tonight, when I drop off Roan after dinner, I'll talk to him then."

"Don't worry about the kids. I'll put them to bed,"

"Thanks Maddie." Ellie stood
to set her mug in the sink. "Do you want me to make you something to eat before I go see Sophie?"

"I think I can manage to whip something up without burning down the house."

"Stick to digging up bones, Maddie, comedy isn't for you." Ellie laughed at Maddie's expression as she turned to leave, but before she made her exit she turned around in the kitchen entrance, "They're about the same, but Nicholas trumps Devlin in stamina." With the color high on her cheeks, she spun on her heel and practically ran out of the room with Maddie's laughter trailing after her.

~*~*~*~

His tortured screams filled the room. Strapped down and unable to move Tony was incapable of doing anything but screech and thrash against his restraint as the pendulum saw blades gradually descended. The inevitable acquaintance of jagged sterling against sweat stained flesh only managed to produce bone-locking fear. Struggling, like everything else he'd done to get away proved futile, but that didn't stop Tony from trying. He'd been stripped down to nothing. The plummeting temperature in the room seemed to freeze the blood in his veins, rendering his body incapable of producing heat.

"Nicholas…
you sick fuck! Mother fucking bastard don't do this! Don't do this to me!" His vocals cracked and from where he stood Nicholas could understand why. Tony had been screaming bloody murder since he'd shown up.

Nicholas div
ested himself of his dark blue coat. Handing it over to Topher standing at his side, he continued on with his tie, setting that too on top of his coat. He rolled up the sleeves of his dark shirt as he languidly made his way to the table Tony was strapped down to. He took a seat on the stool adjacent to it.

Tony twisted his head to look at him and beneath the layers of an
ger and enmity Nicholas saw fear in those dark obsidian eyes. Fear peeled off him in waves and it was that fear that fed Nicholas.

Mercy would not c
ome from him.

"Shit…
Shit, man.  Y-y-you have t-t-to stop this." his lips were blue, his face ashen.

"No," Nicholas shook his head with grim expression
. "I don't think I will."

As he waited for Topher to return with what he'd ordered to be brought to him, Nicholas sat back in his chair and with morbid fascination watched at the blades swung to and fro, their descent that much closer to their target. They really wouldn't cause too much damage, just a few superficial cuts to the abdomen and the upper tights,
only to rise up again and return to once more carve down in the very same areas. The pain was minimal. The wait was murder.

"The first time you fucked with me, I let you off easy, Tony. Prison was a cakewalk compared t
o what I have planned for you. You really should've stayed away, but you decided you wanted to come back and get your revenge. You even managed to stalk my family for months without my notice." Nicholas clapped his hands and smiled derisively. "I must applaud you for that. You've managed to elude my team for a good eight months, that's something to be proud of. But your achievements only managed to piss me off and the fact that you were stupid enough to think you could get away with kidnapping my children, well," he turned to the silver tray at his left, which Topher had arranged for him and grabbed a scalpel, "that's not something I can easily forgive."

The jagged blades descended and tore into Tony's flesh, the second they began to rise, blood bloomed and like a geyser began to gush out. Tony's screams
echoed his dark eyes rounded and watery, his fists clenched as he anxiously tried to breathe. Topher was immediately at Tony's side and poured the clear contents in the beaker he held onto the wounds, Tony's body rose inches from the table and began to spasm.

"Do you want me to tell you a story, Tony?" Nicholas asked calmly, impervious to what was happening.

"F-f-fuck you..." A mixture of spittle, blood and phlegm glistened across his quivering lips.

"It'll make you feel better." He intoned.

Tony's pained scowl brought a smile to Nicholas's lips. "Your loss. It was a really good story." He stood up. "Oh, did you like the pets I left for you?"

"He had the time of his life." Topher responded and chuckled to himself.

"Wonderful to hear." Nicholas walked around the table and leaned over Tony's pain distorted face. "You look like shit, Tony." Nicholas brought the scalpel to view and pressed the sharp instrument against Tony's mouth. "How about a smile, hmnn?" He drove the scalpel between Tony's clenched lips, shoving further between clenched teeth Nicholas swiftly drew it upwards and tore at the soft tissue of Tony's cheek. From ear to ear he administered the same brutal treatment to both sides until blood oozed out, splattering his arms and shirt. Blood covered his hands as he soullessly looked at the face of the disfigured man, whose attempts at screaming were quite a disturbing sight.

There was true
unadulterated horror in Tony's eyes as Nicholas continued to stare at him, what he saw in those silver eyes had him desperately praying for death. For the Devil stared back at him. In those cold, fathomless eyes, he saw nothing that resembled humanity.

Tony's latest wounds created a gruesome image, Nicholas was immune to them. He stooped down so that his mouth fell at the same level as Tony's ear. "Death will be your only escape." He rose and dropped the scalpel on the silver tray.

"Nhhh." It came out as a guttural moan. Tony was no longer capable of speech. He could do no more than gurgle and drown in blood and agony.

"Try not to talk." Nicholas advised, reclaiming his seat on the stool, he tugged a few feet away and sat down. "Whenever you're ready, Christopher."

Before he found his love for firearms, Topher was studying to become a surgeon; he gave up that dream the minute he held a gun. So as a pastime, when his clients paid enough and weren't particularly squeamish, he offered his surgical expertise.

"Say hello to Christopher, Tony, he's very excited to work with you. I'd be honored if I was you. He's all about precision."

"Sorry man, but you fucked up." Topher said indifferently before grabbing a syringe from the tray table, "Do you want me to tell you how old this needle is? Or maybe," he tipped the syringe upside down and gently tapped the air bubbles away, before turning to his patient. "I'll start by telling you exactly where I found it." With the saw blades making their descent, Topher took hold of Tony's arm and tightly squeezed the muscles in his forearm. Once he found a vein, he stabbed the hypodermic needle into it and squeezed out the contents in the barrel.

"We wouldn't want you to pass out before we're finished. Nicholas wants you awake through everything. Now," he tossed the syringe onto the tray, "back to my story. On my way here, I managed to stumble by this baser, so I asked if he had a syringe on him by any chance
, and wouldn't you believe it! The goddamn fucker did have one. So, I gave him a hundred bucks and he gave me his syringe. Good trade, right?" he had to raise his voice over the whir of the blades and Tony's gurgling cries.

His incoherent babbles and blood caked
face had Topher empathizing with the poor man and deep down a part of him wanted to stop what he was doing. Fortunately, that part of him could easily be silenced by his well-founded fear of the silver eyed man seated not too far behind him.

He'd rather be on Nicholas's good side any day, than his bad side. So with that in mind, Topher commenced. Taking hold of Tony's left hand, Topher applied the scalpel to the back of the wounded man's index finger. He pulled the scalpel downwards, causing the pale blue flesh to unfurl, once he reached the knuckle, he jumped on to the next digit and meted out the same punishment, until he reached the pinky. By the time, he was finished, Tony's blood trickled from Topher's gloved hands and onto the cold concrete floor.

No longer capable of screaming, Tony's agonized protest only came out as strained groans.

It continued this way, every mutilation much worse than the last, until Tony Carlyle was nothing more than an unrecognizable corpse in a vat of blood, flesh and bones.

"Kiiilll meh--" he gargled, choking on his own saliva and blood. Nicholas having risen a few minutes ago peered down at him. Some part of him should've felt something, maybe compassion or even disgust but there was nothing. Even vengeance proved distasteful now.

"Give me your gun," he ordered staidly. Topher leaned down, pulled out his pistol from his boot and handed it to Nicholas.

Nicholas took the gun and aimed it between Tony's bleary eyes.

"Plea---"

"I'll see you in hell, Tony. Tell my father I'll be seeing him. " Nicholas pulled the safety, squeezed the trigger and fired without a moment's hesitation.

He tossed the gun back to Topher, "I suggest you pack your things and leave."

"The money...?"

Nicholas turned and callously grinned at the other man, "You've earned yourself a bonus, Christopher," He mockingly patted Topher's cheek. "Don't spend it all in one place."

"What do you want me to do with the body?" He yelled after the Nicholas's retreating form.

"Leave it. Be out of here in five minutes."

There was a clock set to tick the moment he left this condemned warehouse, in five minutes, there would be nothing left but debris and a charred corpse. However, no one would be able to identify the remains, because the person known as Anthony Carlyle never existed.

'It's good to be rich
.' Nicholas silently thought as he lit the cigarette between his lips, took a long drag and exhaled upon his exit.

"Did you enjoy dinner, Roan?" Ellie asked of Devlin's son seated in the passenger seat of her car. Roan peeled his eyes from the passing scenery outside long enough to respond to Ellie's question.

"Yeah, dinner was good."

He was usually more talkative than this. Ellie wondered if he was sick. "Are you alright? Do you feel sick?" She took one hand off the steering wheel and reached over to touch his forehead.

"No, I'm fine." He averted his eyes back to the window.

Roan's wasn't just Devlin's son. In the last three years since she and Devlin dated, Ellie had always treated Roan like one of her own, and always made herself available to him. It hurt to see the young boy so distant now. "Whatever's wrong you can tell me, we'll work it out together,"

Roan remained silent.

Ellie tried
another tactic. "How's school…"

"
You’re not going to marry my dad, are you?"

Taken off guard by the question Ellie had to slam on her breaks to prevent herself from running a red light.

'So much for wanting to take it slow' Ellie thought dryly.

"Roan
..."

"You can tell me the
truth, Ellie. I'm a big boy…I can take it."

Ellie peered at the teenage boy and inwardly sighed. "As true as that maybe, I don't think I should be having this conversation with you. Your father and I ca
re very much about each other…"

"But you don't love him,
not like that Nicholas guy." there was venom there, "I saw you too kissing, you know." He turned accusing eyes to Ellie. "I didn't tell my dad, it'd hurt him too much."

Ellie's hand tightened around the steering wheel. "I'm sorry." She whispered forlornly. Lost as what to say.

The remainder of the car ride was in strained silence and once Ellie parked the car, Roan quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his school bag and stormed out of the car, running into the high-rise building.

Ellie followed at a more sedate pace primarily to give him some space and to gather her thoughts and garner strength for what she was about to do.

~*~*~*~

Devlin tipped the decanter and poured the amber tinted contents into his glass tumbler. It went down smooth and exploded in his stomach. He poured another glass and slammed that one down too. The decanter had been full a few hours ago, now it barely had three fourths of the way before it was completely gone.

He raked his hands through his disheveled mane as though the action alone could take away the memories of that conversation.

He'd been there. He'd been
 
right
 there, standing at the entrance of the porch like a fool, as he listened to his fiancé confess to her father that she was in love with another man. He'd heard 
everything
 and he'd felt gutted. Three years of his life reduced to shit. Devlin was not taking the rejection very well.