Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Oliveira’s mouth dropped open, then quickly snapped shut. “Again, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
Shade tilted his head again as he took his time studying the man before him. His dark gaze flicked to Easy, then back to the man in the chair. “Guess you need your memory jogged.”
Easy hoped like fuck he never needed Shade to jog his memory.
“I don’t need anything but to be released. I’m telling you, you have the wrong man. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“Nah. I got the right man… Dad.”
Easy swore he saw the man’s soul leave his body.
And this was only the first part of the man’s torture. Letting anxiety and fear build was the reason Shade wasn’t in a rush for answers. He knew he’d get them eventually. Even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t make a difference. Shade already had all the facts. He only wanted to stretch out the punishment for as long as possible.
But a few hours of suffering could never compare to the years Shade went through. Something like thirteen years, if Easy got it right.
Thirteen fucking years of being a child sex slave. Being traded and sold from one “owner” to the next like an object and not a living, breathing child. Shade had been treated as if he was disposable.
Jesus fucking Christ. Every time Easy thought of that it churned his stomach and made him more grateful for the childhood he did have.
At least until that fateful night.
Around the same time that Shade was getting freed from his last set of “chains,” Easy was being put into his own and locked away for four years. But that didn’t even compare.
Easy caused his own problem for being a stupid, horny teenager. The man sitting in the chair caused Shade’s.
“Ever hear of a game called lingchi?”
Lingchi? What the fuck was that? Whatever it was, Easy already knew it wasn’t a game and if it was, he’d never want to play it. Especially with Shade.
Or, fuck, with anyone.
“I don’t like to play games.”
Should Easy remind the asshole that he was on a bowling team, even though he rarely showed up because it was only an excuse to fuck around on his wife? The fucker probably also played tennis and golf.
“Doubt you’re gonna like this one, either.” Before Easy could pull out his cell phone to Google the term, Shade explained, “It’s an old form of torture. Lingchi loosely means ‘slow slicing’ or ‘death by a thousand cuts.’”
Having flesh cut piece by piece from your body while you were still alive?
Jesus fuck. Just imagining that being done was torture enough. If that didn’t make Oliveira’s asshole tighten, then nothing would. Easy’s certainly pinched closed and he wasn’t even the target.
“I don’t need that history lesson.” The father of the century couldn’t hide the rising panic in his voice even though he tried like hell.
Yeah, Shade knew what the fuck he was doing. Easy most likely would have just sliced Oliveira’s throat and walked away. Unfortunately, by doing what he did to his son, Shade’s father created a monster. A monster that was about to turn on him.
“Think you do. Might help you remember.” Shade turned to Easy. “Wanna move the ceilin’ winch over here?” He turned back to this father. “Normally, the person receivin’ the punishment is tied to a post. Don’t got a post, but we got somethin’ better…”
Easy moved over to the wall where the remote hung for the electric hoist attached to the ceiling. They only used it when they had to lift a heavy animal—like a horse, a hog or a cow—onto the rolling tray of their largest furnace. Since they rarely got animals that big unless it was a pet, it was hardly ever used.
Easy hit the button and the thick chain with the hook on the end dropped down. Now he realized why Shade put the chair and plastic sheeting where he had.
As soon as the hook was in reach, Shade fastened it to the flex-cuffs. Without looking at Easy, he said, “Raise it ’til I tell you to stop.”
Jesus fuck.
“No!” Oliveira screamed. “I’m not a side of beef!”
Not yet, anyway.
If Easy didn’t know Shade, if he wasn’t one of his closest brothers, if he didn’t work side-by-side with him every weekday, if he hadn’t seen how the man was when it came to Chelle, his ol’ lady’s daughters and Jude… If he hadn’t seen how Shade was with the rest of the Fury kids… he’d be worried that Shade had lost his fucking mind.
He would think the man was worse than their former fucknut prospect Scar.
Or, hell, that the man may even be worse than a “typical” serial killer.
But he knew Shade. Really fucking knew him. Was proud to be his brother. Was proud to be his friend. This dark side of him was normally kept tightly locked away. And for the most part, if someone didn’t know the man’s secrets, at first glance, they would think he was on the shy side.