Chapter 10

Noah

"Look who we have here." A man's voice snaps me out of my haze. The room spins all around me as my eyes burn, my vision blurred by the dried contact lenses still stuck in my eyes. I lift my head to look at the source of the voice entering the dim room, stepping out of a bright, fuzzy light.

I let out a low moan as another punch slams into my stomach; the man in charge of watching me has been using me as a punching bag for hours now. The chair I'm tied to rocks back and forth, just barely staying up. Once I'm free, this bastard will wish he'd never laid a hand on me. I will make his death one of the worst on my record.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, the famous Dove Killer, tied up and suffering after all these years." Long fingers wrap around my chin, jerking my head back. After blinking a few times, I manage to focus on the man through my lenses, and slowly but surely his face clears.

Fuck, that's our target. Ash Lancaster .

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

"Good question." He releases my face and I observe him pacing up and down in front of me. "Perhaps revenge?" he asks sarcastically.

"For your sorry excuse of a father?" I spat, an amused chuckle breaking out of my chest.

"He was indeed a sorry excuse of a man. But powerful, influential. Building an empire no one would be able to destroy," he explains as he approaches me, cupping my face in his palms and forcing me to look at him up close.

"He went crazy, became reckless and was a danger to all of New York's criminals," I say through gritted teeth.

"He was a monster," he spits into my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the clot of saliva hits my cheek. "But he was still my father, and you took everything from us. Our family, our livelihood…everything." His fingers dig into my skin.

"I couldn't care less," I snort, raising my eyebrows.

I never cared who I killed or what their background was. It's the targets' own fault for dragging their families, often innocent people, into their mess and throwing away their loved ones because of their own idiotic decisions .

"Then you don't care that we're going to kill you and your friend because you're a monster just like my father?" He quirks an eyebrow and pushes my head back.

"Where is he?"

"Worried? He will be taken care of, just like you."

"I'm going to fucking kill you," I snarl and glare at him, but he just bursts out laughing.

"They say you are a friend of torture, am I right?" He flashes me a vicious smile.

I can't help it and my lips curl into a grin. "Sure, show me what you got," I dare them. I can take a lot; I have learned to endure more pain than the average man and have pushed myself to limits that most would find unbearable. A little torture won't break me that easily. "Let's have some fun."

My lungs flutter violently, fighting for air. The room is rotating around me from the lack of oxygen reaching my lungs and brain. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, the heat of it fighting the freezing cold that is swallowing me. The chair I'm strapped to is on the floor, collapsed backwards. A thick piece of fabric is draped over my face as they continue to hose me down. My whole body is shaking, my muscles tense, twitching as I fight to stay conscious. Finally, the water stops and the man responsible for my torture pulls the wet cloth from my face. My mouth falls open and I gasp for air, my lungs inflating, oxygen rushing back into my body, through my blood and into my brain.

The taste of bile creeps up my throat, flooding my mouth, and I rock violently from side to side until I'm far enough and can let go of what's left of the contents of my stomach with a loud retching gasp.

Fighting for air, my eyes land on Ash Lancaster, who has been watching the whole show, sitting in a chair a few feet away, enjoying my torture, but growing increasingly frustrated. The image of him is shaky, flickering as it mixes with memories bubbling to the surface, hidden in the depths of my mind.

He occasionally snaps at his men, yells at them, and his constant frown reveals his annoyance. He certainly did not expect me to be able to handle so much. But I'm not a pussy who can only dish it out; I can also take it very well.

My focus shifts back to the ceiling where I had found a small spot of mold, a point to focus on through the agony, my anchor to keep me from going insane .

"That's enough for today," Mr. Lancaster's voice echoes through the room as he snaps. "I don't want him to die just yet." Die? Me? Well, they can try.

"What are we going to do with him?" one of the men responsible for my torture speaks, and my attention shifts to him.

"Leave him tied to the chair, just put him back up, I don't want him to choke on his vomit," is the last thing he says before he walks away. Next, my body is lifted off the floor before the men surrounding me exit the room, leaving me to fend for myself.

They all just signed their death certificates.