CHAPTER 127: TORTURE

Violet had heard voices—voices that had given her hope as she squirmed on the floor with her hands still bound behind her back.

It was already bad enough that she woke up with a pounding headache that threatened to split her head open with pain. The stench around her made her want to throw up right where she lay on the ground. The smell was a vile combination of decayed straw, feces, and damp wood, suffocating her senses and heightening her panic.

But it was at that moment she heard voices, voices that didn’t belong to the two servants that had kidnapped her, and that gave her a flicker of hope. Her heart leaped at the thought of someone else being nearby, someone who might help her.

Her first thought was to bite through the piece of cloth tied tightly around her mouth. She twisted her head, pulling at the gag with her teeth, her jaw aching from the effort. After several panicked moments of realizing she couldn’t dislodge it, she focused on freeing her legs and hands. She scraped her wrists against the rough floor, grinding the bonds in desperation. The cords dug deeper into her skin, leaving her wrists bruised and bleeding, the pain sharp and unrelenting.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to give up. The thought of what the servants would do to her when they came back terrified her beyond words. She recalled waking up and realizing her buttons were undone, the bandages wrapped around her body loosened. If before she had hoped they might simply kill her, now she was convinced they intended to hurt her in the most traumatic way imaginable.

Still, she fought against despair. Her eyes scanned her surroundings frantically, searching for anything she could use. They landed on a bucket not far from her—a bucket filled with something vile, likely feces. The thought occurred to her in an instant: if she could make enough noise to catch the attention of whoever was outside, maybe, just maybe, they could help.

She didn’t waste time. She squirmed toward the bucket, dragging her body across the filthy floor, her limbs straining with effort. Every inch felt like a mile, but she pressed on, determination etched into her every movement. When she finally reached the bucket, she kicked it with all her strength, sending it clattering across the floor. The stench hit her full force, an overwhelming wave of nausea threatening to overtake her.

"Fuck!" she cursed internally, gagging as she rolled away from the foul-smelling mess she’d created. She squirmed further, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the stench, her chest heaving as she fought to hold back vomit.

She didn’t stop trying to scream, though her muffled cries barely carried. Her eyes stayed fixed on the door, praying fervently that a savior would walk in. But her prayers went unanswered. Her heart sank as she saw the stable door creak open, revealing two familiar figures stepping inside.

Her first instinct was to swallow the blockage in her throat, her heart racing with terror. She watched as the two approached, their footsteps heavy and deliberate.

"This place fucking stinks!" Reddrick gasped, holding his nose with one hand as he glared at the stall where they had placed Violet. His disgust was evident, his nose wrinkling as his eyes darted to the spilled bucket.

"...That’s good for us," Howie responded confidently, his tone calm but authoritative. He continued toward Violet, his strides purposeful. His demeanor left no doubt: he was the one in charge.

"You made trouble," he said when he reached her, pulling out a small knife that Violet hadn’t seen before. The blade gleamed ominously in the dim light, sending a chill down her spine.

"You made trouble that almost got us in trouble," he continued, his voice laced with mock warmth as he looked down at Violet. She couldn’t decide whether to glare at him in defiance or beg for mercy.

"Howie! Come on! You want her to be submissive, then we make her submissive! We can also enjoy ourselves in the process!" Reddrick growled, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cupped his crotch lewdly, his eyes roving over Violet’s body with sickening lust.

"Moreover, we already got permission, and she’ll be dead soon!" Reddrick added, his voice thick with depravity. He stepped closer, clearly itching to act on his impulses. If not for Howie’s presence, he might have already pounced on her.

Howie’s expression darkened further with each word Reddrick spoke. Despite Reddrick’s size and apparent strength, Howie’s presence alone kept him in check. Reddrick hesitated, finally muttering reluctantly, "I can let you go first..." His tone was hesitant, but the desire in his eyes was unmistakable.

Howie’s gaze snapped toward him, colder than ice. "No! We can’t risk getting her smell on you in such a way! We’ll decide how things go after we see Cain’s reaction tomorrow morning after she isn’t found!" Howie’s voice was measured but firm, leaving no room for argument. His smile widened, but it was devoid of any warmth, making Violet cringe and scramble back in fear.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" Violet screamed, her voice muffled and desperate. Her entire body shook as she watched him move closer, the knife glinting ominously in his hand.

"Please! Please!" she begged, her words barely intelligible through the gag. Her heart raced as she felt his hand grip hers firmly, pinning it to the ground.

"This should keep you quiet," Howie muttered under his breath. Without hesitation, he drove the blade down, severing her smallest finger in one brutal motion.

The pain was unlike anything Violet had ever felt. It tore through her like wildfire, white-hot and excruciating. She screamed through the gag, her cries muffled but raw with agony. Blood pooled around her hand, the stark crimson contrasting with the dirt-streaked floor. She stared in horror at the mutilated stump where her finger had been, her mind struggling to process the reality of what had just happened.

Tears streamed down her face, her body trembling uncontrollably. The room seemed to spin, the stench, the pain, and the terror merging into a suffocating haze. Violet’s vision blurred, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the knife in Howie’s hand, now slick with her blood.