Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
“I’ll stick it up your ass.”
His shoulders sank. “Unfortunately, at this moment in time, I believe you would.” Holding the gun out to the side, he waited as the guard came forward and claimed it. Slipping it beneath his blazer, the guard turned to go, but my father said, ever so quietly, horribly coldly, “Bring in the chair and unlock the machine.”
“Yes, patron.”
As one, the two guards left.
My breath caught as a loud noise and squeaky wheels sounded. It echoed in the chambers of the caves, loud with earthen acoustics.
I wanted to ask what would happen but...what was the fucking point?
I’d pushed him to do this.
I’d thrown his choices in his face.
My heart clawed into my throat as a heavy wooden chair with sturdy platforms for arms and feet was tipped backward and wheeled into the cave. The guards didn’t stop until they cut beneath the arch and placed the medieval-looking chair above the drain in the floor of the other catacomb. Leather straps dangled off the armrests, back, and legs. Buckles glinted in the electrical sconces.
Once the chair was positioned, one of the guards pulled out a key and unlocked the lattice-doored cabinet.
The doors swung wide.
I tripped backward.
My missing calf muscle sliced with agony as I landed heavily on the fur-lined bed.
Fuck.
FUCK.
Cem shifted toward me, placing his hand on my shoulder.
I was too fucking terrified to shake him off.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the huge machine with dials, switches, and a giant voltage wheel with a colour swatch above fading from green to red.
“Like I said, Aslan, my methods are tried and true. I will never push you beyond your tolerances. I will never actively try to deliver more pain than you can handle, but...you will feel pain. It will be delivered via electrodes on your body—sometimes your temples, sometimes your genitals, sometimes the soles of your feet. Other times, the electrodes won’t be used at all.”
He snapped his fingers, and a guard came running with a long wand with two metal spikes. Fisting it, Cem waved it around as if he could conjure magic. “This is called a picana. It’s used when I wish to target a localised area and deliver... intense responses.”
Sweat beaded down my spine.
My heart chugged and choked.
No wonder the doctor had fought for me.
No wonder he tried to bargain for more time.
Even the healthiest of people wouldn’t survive this.
No one could survive electrocution.
The other guard came to join the one standing beside Cem after delivering the nasty torture wand.
With barely a nod, Cem stepped back and muttered, “Strap him into the chair.”
A rush of violence shot down my limbs.
I soared upright.
I swung.
I managed to land three punches before my body forsook me, my vision betrayed me, and the last thing I remembered was the guards dragging me between them and the nasty bite of leather as I was fastened in.
Chapter Forty-One
*
Aslan
*
(Heart in Dutch: Hart)
*
Two months...
“A NEW DAY. A NEW LESSON. STRAP him in.” My father’s command cut through my half-dead state. I didn’t have the chance to wake up properly before strong arms hoisted me out of the fur-lined bed and dragged me back to the chair.
Every part of me begged for it to end.
I had no fight left.
No hope.
I had no idea how much time had passed, only that each lesson was worse than the last. To begin with, they’d been short. A few questions, a few zaps. It hadn’t even hurt that much. The voltage had stayed firmly in the green, and I’d ridden through the teeth-snapping, blood-stinging, involuntary spasms without too much hardship.
Each time Cem touched me with the picana or stuck electrodes to my head or feet, he’d cup my cheeks and apologise.
His despair was genuine.
His dedication to my lessons steadfast.
He both loved me and hated me, and that recipe drove me straight into hell.
Blinking back the blur of bad sleep and the heavy wash of sickness that seemed to be getting worse, I smacked my lips and forced myself to focus.
Each morning a guard came into my room, forced a bunch of pills into my mouth that I assumed were antibiotics, then stood over me while I ate.
The food I was given rivalled any expensive restaurant.
Hearty keşkek and delicious şiş köfte.
So many meals that I hadn’t had in so long and I wished I could enjoy them.
The aromas made my stomach snarl with delicious expectation, but every morsel tasted like dirt.
I lived in dirt.
I breathed in dirt.
And when the guard was satisfied I’d eaten every bit, my body rebelled and purged it. I’d barely reach the toilet in the second cave before hurling up the rich food. Food my body desperately needed to keep down.
It wasn’t by choice.
I wanted to get stronger, not weaker.
I hated that my ribs were beginning to show and the hole in my calf seemed bigger every day. The black trackpants and sweatshirt I’d been given hid the worst of my condition, but beneath it...I was wasting away.