Chapter 45

The moment Pietro mentioned the rat, my heart thrummed with anticipation. It had been too long since I’d last indulged in the hunt, the chase, the sweet surrender of a life bleeding out under my hands. The exhilaration of it all was like a captivating melody, impossible to ignore and intoxicating. I could already feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the focus sharpening my senses to a fine point.

Pietro knew the effect this would have on me. He understood the darker corners of my soul, the parts that thrived on the art of death. We were cut from the same cloth in that regard, though our fabrics had been dyed with different shades of sin.

At the funeral home, I descended to the basement, the familiar chill of the air raising goosebumps on my skin. This was my sanctuary, my laboratory, where life and death danced in a macabre waltz orchestrated by my hand. The surgical steel table gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a blank canvas waiting for my masterstroke.

I prepared my tools meticulously, each one sharp and ready, reflecting my own eagerness. The sight of them laid out in precise order brought a smile to my lips. It was a ritual, a prelude to the crescendo that would come with the rat’s last breath.

The thought of Pietro’s approval spurred me on, a desire to impress him mingling with my own bloodlust. I wasn’t just doing this for the release it promised—I was doing it for him, to show my loyalty, my strength. In this twisted world, these were the gifts I offered to those I respected, to those I allowed to see the monster that lurked within.

The vibration of my phone against the cold metal table pulled me from my reverie. It was a message from Pietro, a simple instruction that set my pulse racing: “He’s on his way. Make it hurt.”

The anticipation of the rat’s arrival was like a drug in my veins, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins that had me buzzing with a dark euphoria. Pietro’s trust in my abilities was a gift in itself, almost like a courting gift in a way, and I was determined to honor it with precision and cruelty. I cherished the moments when I could be the one to alleviate his burdens, to offer him the solace that only my unique talents could provide.

My love for Pietro was a complex tapestry woven from threads of respect, desire, and a shared understanding of our darker natures. He was the only one who saw past the façade of normalcy I presented to the world, the only one who didn’t flinch from the shadowed contours of my soul. With him, I could let down my guard and reveal the true extent of my depravity, and in return, he offered me acceptance and affection I had never dared to hope for.

The rat’s nonchalance as he walked through the doors of the funeral home was almost comical. He had no idea that his fate had been sealed the moment Pietro made the call. I greeted him with a cordial smile, directing him to the basement with the promise of a reward for his cooperation. As he descended the stairs, his back turned to me, I took a moment to savor the moment, the calm before the storm.

With practiced ease, I extracted the syringe from my pocket, the clear liquid inside promising a swift and merciful descent into unconsciousness. I approached him silently, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. In one swift motion, I plunged the needle into his neck, pressing the plunger down with a sense of satisfaction as I felt the drug disperse into his bloodstream.

The rat’s body slumped against me, his weight easy to manage as I guided him to the steel table that awaited us. I hoisted him up, his limp form landing with a dull thud that echoed in the silence of the basement. I took a moment to admire my handiwork, the sedative already clouding his senses, rendering him oblivious to the horrors that were about to unfold.

I bound him securely to the table, ensuring that he wouldn’t be going anywhere when he finally awoke. The fear that would soon fill his eyes was a sight I had grown accustomed to, a sight I relished. It was a reminder of my power, my control over life and death.

The suspense was palpable, a living entity that crackled in the air around us. The excitement of the hunt quickened my pulse, and the tension mounted as I anticipated the rat’s inevitable awakening. I could barely contain my eagerness, the anticipation of the impending slaughter causing a shiver of delight to run down my spine.

The lab was silent save for the steady drip of a faucet somewhere in the corner, a metronome to the symphony of thoughts swirling in my mind. I stood before the small stove in the corner of my workspace, the kettle in my hands feeling like an old friend. The ritual of making tea had always been a sacred one for me, a moment of quietude amidst the chaos of my life.

I filled the kettle with filtered water, the sound of it pouring into the vessel a soft whisper in the stillness. The weight of the kettle was familiar and comforting, a testament to the countless times I had performed this ceremony. I placed it carefully on the burner, the blue flame flickering to life beneath it with a hiss.

As the water began its slow journey to a boil, I turned my attention to the selection of teas arranged meticulously on a nearby shelf. Each tin was labeled with precision, the varieties ranging from robust black teas to delicate herbal infusions. My fingers traced the edges of the containers, the cool metal soothing against my skin. I chose a blend of Earl Grey, the bergamot’s citrusy note a perfect complement to the earthy undertones of the black tea leaves.

I measured the tea with care, spooning the perfect amount into the infuser—not too little, not too much. The balance had to be just right. The infuser was placed gently into the waiting teapot, a vessel that had been with me for years, its surface worn smooth by countless brewings.

The kettle began to whistle, a soft, insistent sound that beckoned me back to the stove. I lifted the kettle, the steam rising in a delicate dance, caressing my face with its warm embrace. I poured the water over the tea leaves with reverence, watching as they began to unfurl, releasing their essence into the liquid that would soon grace my lips.

As I waited for the tea to steep, I found myself humming a tune—a lullaby my mother used to sing. The melody came unbidden, a ghost from my past that wrapped around me like a shroud. It was a song of comfort, of love, and in that moment, it felt like a connection to a time when my world was simpler, less stained by the darkness that now defined it.

I allowed the lullaby to fill the space around me, the notes hanging in the air like a whispered promise. The tea’s aroma mingled with the scent of the lab, creating a blend that was uniquely mine. The combination of antiseptic and bergamot was an odd one, yet it brought me a sense of peace, a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there could be moments of beauty and tranquility.

With the tea properly steeped, I poured it into a ceramic cup, the dark liquid swirling within like a tempest contained. The first sip was a revelation, the flavor both bold and nuanced, a dance of bitter and sweet on my tongue. I savored it, letting the warmth spread through me, a balm to the chill that often settled in my bones.

As I stood there, cradling the warmth of my tea between my palms, the soft moaning from the table drew my attention. The rat was beginning to stir, the sedative wearing off and leaving him at my mercy. My heart pounded in my chest, a primal rhythm that matched the throbbing ache in my groin. The anticipation of what was to come had me practically rock hard, my body responding to the thrill of the hunt with an intensity that bordered on euphoria.

I took another sip of my tea, the Earl Grey’s bold flavor just as delicious as the fear that would soon fill the room. This entire experience was starting to feel like a self-care afternoon, an indulgence in the darker facets of my nature. It was a ritual that cleansed my soul, a necessary act that allowed me to maintain the semblance of normalcy in my daily life.

The rat’s eyelids fluttered open, confusion clouding his gaze as he struggled to comprehend his surroundings. I watched him dispassionately, my mind already cataloging the various ways I could make him suffer.

I set my tea down on a nearby counter, the ceramic cup clicking against the stainless steel surface. My focus was solely on the man before me, his fear a palpable entity that seemed to thicken the air. I approached him with measured steps, my boots echoing in the silence of the lab.

“Where am I?” he stammered, his voice trembling with the weight of his impending doom.

I leaned in close, my breath a ghostly caress against his ear. “You’re in Hell,” I whispered, my voice low and menacing.

The rat’s body tensed, his eyes darting around the room in a desperate search for an escape that didn’t exist. I could see the exact moment he realized the gravity of his situation, the moment the fear took hold and squeezed the fight out of him. It was a transformation I had witnessed countless times before, a surrender to the inevitable.

I straightened up, my gaze raking over him with clinical detachment. “You betrayed your brotherhood,” I said, my voice betraying none of the excitement that coursed through my veins. “And for that, you must be punished.”

The rat began to plead for his life, his words a jumbled mess of apologies and promises. His body squirmed under his restraints in vain.

I was so fucking hard.