Daughter of Strife- Part 3 by Karpov Kinrade

Author:Karpov Kinrade [Kinrade, Karpov]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Daring Books
Published: 2019-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

Even with a rough map, it's not easy to find him. Evie guides me through the maze of doors and halls, telling me when somewhere leads to a dead end or a door is a facade. This place is truly insane. I wouldn't be surprised if prisoners get 'lost' here and are never found. The anger is burning bright in me when I finally find his lair.

I pause before the entrance, which is heavily protected with a thick steel door. There are no guards, though. Guards require trust. Steel is cold and simple.

"Ready, Evie?" I ask.

"Always. Let's do it."

I connect my eGlass to the sleek digital security pad next to the door and let Evie work her magic.

"Ready when you are, Scarlett."

I brace myself. "Now."

The door clicks open, and I slip through, quiet as I can possibly be.

He's a smaller man than I imagined, his petite frame bent over his desk, bald spot on the back of his head gleaming against the harsh white lights hanging overhead. He's writing on actual paper—an odd site these days. Most use computers or ePads for communicating.

It's a standard looking office for the most part… desk, chair, stuffed bookshelf. Normal enough, except for the cage to the right of his desk. Except for the prisoner who hangs on hooks within. Her skin is torn open, covered in ribbons of red. Her eyelids have been cut off, leaving her eyes forever open in perpetual horror. She took her last breath before I arrived, but her body continues to drip blood, splashing in a small pool below her feet, the stench and sound creating a cacophony of horror.

It makes my stomach turn, but I steel myself for what must be done.

The warden turns, suddenly alerted by my presence. His hair is long and grey, with the one bald spot in the back, and his skin is sickly and thin.

He smiles, and his darkened teeth look macabre in his mouth. “I knew you would come for me,” he says, resigned.

I grimace. “You’re a monster.”

“And you are not?”

My eyes involuntarily glance at the cage again. No, I'm not a monster. I could never do what he's done.

But I'm not here to debate with a psychopath. Instead, I get straight to work and dash forward, wings expanding as I grab his neck and lift him up from his chair in one movement.

He tries to scream, but my hand clutches at his windpipe, cutting off oxygen.

My power surges through him and memories flood my mind. The torture of men and women, whippings, guttings, beheadings, rapes. And then other memories. Horrific memories closer to home. Things he did to the people he claimed to love. He gets off on it all. I feel his euphoria at the torture even as bile rises in my throat.

He deserves death.

And it galls me that Varian knew this. That he sent me to be his executioner.

But sometimes there are other ways.

Death is an easy way out.

This man deserves to taste his own medicine.

“You will confess,” I say, still connected to his mind even as I lower him back to his chair.

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