DEVIL:
I sat back in a chair, watching through the glass window as Monty tortured the guy. The view was sickeningly satisfying. Monty slammed his fist into the man's gut, drawing a grunt of pain.
"Tell me what you know about Mr. X, Murkus," Monty threatened. "Or you're not walking out of here alive."
Murkus's face was swollen and purple from the beating. Blood dripped from his head, nose, and the corners of his mouth, but still, he kept silent. A stubborn piece of trash.
These men are trained to endure hell, to keep their secrets buried deep. But what they don't realize is that I'm the Devil.
I rose from my seat, stepping into the dimly lit room. Monty's eyes met mine, burning with fury, but he stepped aside with a nod.
I studied Murkus's battered body and asked, "So, who do we have here today?"
The room was dark, the only light focused on the victim. I took advantage of the shadows, circling him like a predator. He couldn't see me, but he felt my presence. I intended to toy with him before delivering the final blow.
"He's the one who helped Jules with the shipments," Monty explained, never taking his eyes off Murkus. "Last week, I caught him lurking near her house, trying to get in. He claimed he'd mistaken the house for someone else's, but when I dug into his background, I found out he's not only tied to Jules but has connections with Leo Hudson. But he's refusing to talk."
I hummed thoughtfully, frowning as I studied Murkus. "Is that so?"
Murkus scoffed, trying to play tough, but he hadn't met me yet. I walked over to a table lined with tools—screwdrivers, blades, and one curved knife that caught my eye.
"Do you know what this is called, Murkus?" I taunted, showing him the sharp, gleaming tip of the knife. For a split second, I smelled his fear. My lips curled into a grin. "It's a curved knife, designed to peel off skin and carve out designs. Why don't we give it a try?"
I plunged the knife into his flesh, and he screamed in agony. I twisted it deeper, cutting into the tender flesh just below his groin.
"Let's try this again, shall we? Tell us exactly what you know."
He huffed in pain, tears and mucus mingling with the blood dripping down his face.
"The more you delay, the more pain you'll feel, Murkus."
"I... I don't know..." he grunted.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... wrong answer," I said, carving another spot on his thigh. "Let's try again. Who did you ship the girls and kids to?"
"Ahhh..." He screamed. "Fuck..."
"It hurts, doesn't it? You'd better start talking. You're too young to lose your balls."
He bared his teeth at me, then took a sharp breath. "Fine... I'll talk."
I smiled, giving him a nod.
"Well, we work for a man named Mr. X. But nobody's ever seen him. He's known as some underworld ruler or something. I heard he has a clean name in society and goes by Mr. X in the underworld. He controls a vast network across the world, and Boston is his one of the main port," he said, wincing. "Drugs, women, children—he controls it all."
"Who are his partners? And how did you know Jules?"
"We were just workers for them. The main network is run from New York. They pick up kids, women, boys, and girls of all ages and ship some to Boston. They use the ports to deliver them by sea. We have men at the ports—Mr. X's men. Jules used to handle the Boston ports."
"Where do they send the others?" I asked.
"Through different transport methods. Some of my friends are stationed in India, others in Nigeria, Kazakhstan, and Southern Africa. We recently took over operations in China. So, we use every possible means to transport the girls."
"Do you know where they take them?"
"Not always!" he said, his voice trembling. "Most of them were sent to brothels. Only a few, especially virgins, were sent to the Arab countries on request. Others were kept for personal enjoyment."
Bastards.
"Do you know of any brothels in Boston?"
He stayed mum as I twisted the knife deep earning a grunt from him.
"Not exactly!" he shouted through gritted teeth. "I'm only responsible for the shipments. There are other men who handle the distribution. But... there's a woman. She's the one who takes in these girls."
"Name?"
"I don't know her name, but... the place is called Gareld's Mansion."
"What exactly is this place?"
"They mostly target girls and boys under 18. They drug them first to get the substances into their systems. Only then can they be transported without much suspicion. They get weak and can't really attract attention. They're either temporarily kept in that mansion or bought by the woman who owns it."
Every piece of information he gave only made my blood boil.
"And has anyone ever escaped?" a voice asked from behind. I didn't need to turn around to know it was my brother—the one who's been with me from the start. Though he'd had his share of revenge, there were still many scores to settle.
Murkus squinted, trying to make out his face through the blinding light focused on him.
"Never," Murkus replied.
"What happens if they try?" my brother asked, his tone cold.
Murkus, his face a bloody mess, scoffed. "They're tortured before they die!"
In an instant, a screwdriver pierced straight through his skull. Murkus's eyes widened in shock before life left him. I finally turned to look. My brother's eyes were blazing red, staring down at Murkus's lifeless body with an inhuman fury.
He then looked at me, his voice calm but edged with menace as he said, "What? He deserved to die."
I nodded at him and ordered one of the men to take care of the body. "Maybe you should try a new concept called patience, brother," I teased as I walked beside him to the next room.
"Not in my dictionary, brother," he shot back with the same sharp tone.
We'd always been like this—he's the hotheaded one, and I'm the strategist. But most importantly, he's a brother I can always count on. A brother from another mother.
"Boss, we've located the mansion," Monty said, capturing our attention. We followed him into the computer room, where he pulled up a surveillance feed of a large white mansion named "Hampton's Mansion" on the door.
"Do we know who owns it?" I asked.
Monty typed a few commands into his system, gathering the information. "The woman's name is Darcy Gomes, but her original name was Abby Garcia. She's from Australia. She ran away from home at seventeen and came to Boston. The records show she used to be a stripper, but later, she climbed the ladder by associating with a few wealthy men. Now, she owns the biggest brothel and nightclubs in Boston."
"Garcia?" My brother's brows furrowed. "Dig deeper."
Monty nodded and continued. "The records indicate that she has a special customer—Leo Hudson. He's likely the one who's helped her get this far. Oh, and she has two daughters: Heath and Lara. One's missing, and the other..."
"Currently in Preston," my brother finished the sentence.
He stared at the screen, his eyes locked on the details for a long moment before he spoke again. "Find out who their father is."