Chapter 26: XIII (1)

Book:Behind Their Veneers Published:2024-6-4

Gurgling noises echoed round the dark, empty room as the beaten and battered man struggled to bring his head out of the blue vessel filled to the brim with water.
The thick veins in his neck popped and throbbed as they ran through his head, growing smaller as they approached his temples. He could feel the energy left in him abating as the seemingly powerful arm held his neck firmly.
Unable to hold his breath anymore, he blew out a breath through his nose but that had been a ghastly mistake on his part as consequently, he ended up losing a bit of his resolve, causing a stream of water to rush into his mouth and nose.
He sputtered painfully as he could feel more water entering his mouth and nose, making their way into his brain; his struggles intensified as the panic for his life became frantic. Tightly shutting his lips albeit, it was probably too late, he kicked and shook in hysteria but all to no avail.
His hands had been tightly bound behind his back with his legs firmly buckled against the metallic chair; the bloodthirsty chains digging into his wrists and ankles as he tried to fight but he knew. He knew it was pointless-inane even-for the thought of escaping to merely skip across his mind because where he was being held was far, far more tormenting than hell itself. He could tell.
He shut his eyes as his mind began conjuring jumbled and incoherent words of prayer for something-anything to save him; he could feel his body going numb, his lungs screeching for something as meagre yet as tectonic as a whiff of air, his mind finally succumbing to the darkness that was starting to embrace him into its gelidity and emptiness.
As he felt his eyes drooping, his body going still in defeat as his resolve dissipated into thin air, his head was suddenly pulled out of the water and immediately, an uncontrollable rush of air filled his lungs as he gasped and began wheezing for air.
His lungs were screaming in pain but not from the water, this time, they were screaming because the rush of air he desperately inhaled was too much for him to handle. For a few minutes, he was left alone to recover from the near death experience until he heard footsteps coming closer to him.
Almost instantaneously, his head was abruptly pulled back, hard and fast enough to cause his neck to snap into two but by some miracle, it didn’t. A pained groan slipped past his lips as he felt the arm grip his hair even tighter. Slowly opening his eyes, he looked into the eyes of the owner of the death grip.
Eyes shielded from view by familiar dark shades stared back at him as he continued to heave, his chests rising and falling as he inhaled as much as he could because he knew what he had just been through wouldn’t be the last of his torture.
“Are you ready to speak now?” the man with the dark shades, who he perfectly recognised as Owen Skull asked, his bone-chillingly deep voice echoing round the dismally and depressingly dark and murky room.
In response, he could only stare into what he presumed were his eyes through the shades as his eyes drooped in immense fatigue.
“I ask again, are you ready to speak now?” the voice was even harder and deeper now as his tone went an octave lower.
He knew what was coming; he knew he would have to pay a dangerously heavy price for his silence. He was well aware that he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave this hellhole alive. No one had ever left the den of this unforgiving Beelzebub, not before, not now, not ever.
He, better than anyone, knew they were more than rumours seeing as how more than half of his gang members had disappeared into thin air with no hope of ever returning with their spirits still abiding in them.
This Mafia clan-where he was being held-he knew perfectly well that they weren’t the type to kill and hide. All of their unfortunate prey were always returned to their various gangs with callous and soulless inscriptions on some parts of their bodies.
On their last mission, more than twenty of his fellow gang members were killed and two had been abducted-most probably taken in for interrogation-but when they were returned, their bodies had knife carvings on them, someone had tried to do an artistic work by using their flesh as canvases and the most prominent word of them all had been the devil’s own name. J. K.
He didn’t need to be told that it was just a matter of time before his end arrived. The moment the trigger had been pulled and the bullet had embedded itself in his right leg and not going straight into his skull, he had known that his death would be a torturous one.
Skull, seeing as their captive had no intention to speak, could only do his best to try to prolong the captive’s life because the boss was becoming impatient and annoyed and everyone, even from the heavens down to the pits of hell, knew that an impatient or angry J. K. screamed terror.
With that thought, Skull raised his right hand and sent a jawbreaking punch towards his face, causing his neck to snap to the side as he fell to the cold bare ground, taking the heavy, metallic chair with him. Not giving him any second to recover from the hit, Skull dragged him back into his previous position before throwing another punch to his other cheek.
The already battered man let out agonizing groans as he coughed hoarsely and spat out blood from his bruised mouth.
Skull once again, dug his hands into the man’s hair, taking large fists of it into his palms in order to steady his wobbly head. He looked him dead in the eye as he reiterated his question,
“Are you prepared to speak now?”
The injured man lifted his bloodshot eyes to stare into Skull’s. For a few minutes, he said and did nothing before suddenly, a wide grin spread across his face, showcasing his bloody teeth as a sardonic laugh slipped past his lips.
Skull gritted his teeth and raised his fist to bestow upon the man another series of punches before he stopped abruptly on hearing steady and calculated footsteps approaching them.
Everywhere turned eerily silent as the few guards present there stiffened like ramrods. Skull looked over his shoulder and saw his boss approaching in his signature black three piece suit. He looked just like the Lucifer walking out of a fiery furnace unscathed as though the conflagrant heat in there was nothing more than the temperature of the water in a hot tub.
He looked calm, unearthly calm as he took tauntingly slow yet predatory steps towards them with his hands buried in his pockets. Skull stood straight and moved out of the way, his eyes going back to see their captive who had gone ramrod stiff and appallingly pallid as he stared eyes wide open at the approaching figure.
Skull could see him visibly shaking as trails of sweat ran down his temples to his collarbones and down his torso. He looked away, knowing now that there was nothing he could do for him anymore. If only the man had gently cooperated with him, his life would’ve probably been spared; it wouldn’t have gotten to such an extent but alack, either way, it was already too late.