Jonas (Darkness #7)(4)

I didn’t have a lot of family, but I’d be damned if the few people I’d come to know and love would be hurt in any way. I couldn’t stand the idea of it. Especially after becoming a mother, I felt the cords of those I held dear as solid things attaching us together. Each second Jonas was missing caused me pangs of fear and pain. I was ready to storm the walls of hell to get him back.

I just needed to find the location of those walls.

* * *

“Well, how are we today?”

Jonas came out of his bored stupor as the door clunked shut. He lifted his head as something rattled behind him. He didn’t bother to turn. He simply waited for the click-click of high heels to faux-saunter in front of him.

This was the fourth time in two days he’d seen this female. She always wore a leather corset, and she always tried to lather him with sex seconds after she walked in. She hated it, though; Jonas could tell. She hated every bit of that stupid act. It was in the way her eyebrows furrowed when he showed arousal. In the relief when he showed disinterest. In the rigidity of her body when he looked down at his hard-on, then pointedly looked back at her. And, most importantly, in the aggression of her whipping after the hard-on incident—which was actually quite fun.

She wasn’t the only torturer in this room. She wasn’t the only one trying to glean information. But she was the only one who kept losing control of her emotions. It didn’t happen often, or for long periods of time, but he was chafing her emotions whereas she was just making him bleed. She didn’t have the upper hand, and therefore, she didn’t have the power.

He could tell it was starting to frustrate her. Obviously most men didn’t react the way he did. And her bosses could not have been pleased.

“Not even going to have a pleasant conversation?” she asked as she stopped in front of him. Stress lines gathered around the corners of her eyes. Suppressed emotion tugged down the edges of her lips.

Oh no, the bosses couldn’t have been pleased. He hadn’t uttered one word, or even one grunt, since he woke up in this place. If they wanted vital information, they picked up the wrong male.

The beautiful female waved a leather flaying device. The ends, coated in metal spikes, tinkled as they rubbed against each other. She was getting serious, thank the gods. It had taken long enough.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked in that naturally soft, sultry voice. The deeper feminine tones gave him a shiver. “This is my coercer. I can do more damage with a whip, but it’ll peel away all your skin. We’ll save that for when I don’t need you anymore. Can’t have you unconscious so early in the game, can we?”

She stepped forward with a hard swing. The splash of leather tipped with metal raked across his sensitive chest. The pain clawed at him.

Oh yeah, he’d feel this one.

He turned his gaze to the far wall, fixed it, and got ready to settle into the pain.

“Just tell me your name. That’s all I want—the name of a handsome man. What is your name?”

After a silent pause, the rake of pain once again descended. He felt blood well up and overflow from a handful of wounds.

“What is your name?” she purred.

The rake of pain turned from claws into knives. They slashed into his chest and zinged through his body. Lava erupted from his skin and spread across his chest. Blood oozed from stinging gashes. A red haze clouded his vision.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

He let his muscles relax totally. Let his awareness seep into the pain.

“What is your name?” she purred again.

He held onto that erotic voice as the next wave of agony washed through him. He sank down into it. Let it consume him.

Another hum of that beautiful voice. Another scrape of cruelty.

The tide pulled him under. He soaked it up and let it blend with his memories. Each slap of steel took the bite away from his memories. Transferred the pain from his past to his physical body. Let him feel the anguish externally so it would then fade away; the suffering of his memories would fade with it. At least for a while.

Steel slashed into his skin. Images of his mother leaving him wafted up. Of hearing her call him a worthless runt and walking out the door. She hadn’t even secured a mate to take care of him. Or given him to anyone. She’d just walked out that door and never come back.

“What is your name?” the voice cooed. As soft and sweet as a dove.

The scour of torture was as biting and deep as an electric shock.

A male took him in, even though Jonas was small and scrawny for his age. Even though his mother had been low in power. Even though no one thought he’d amount to much. That male took him in and called him son. Gave Jonas a father. Gave him another family.

The bite of metal didn’t erase the echoing pain from hearing his father had fallen because of that demon. The blood oozing down his chest didn’t detract from the internal suffering of knowing he could’ve helped. He could’ve sacrificed himself for his father, if nothing else. He could’ve shown his father he was worth something. That he could grow up to be someone his father would be proud of. He could’ve mattered to someone.

He’d lost another family member. He should’ve been able to help.

Another burst of pain welled up, but this time inside of him. Jonas growled with it, fighting. The sear on his skin gave him something to latch onto. Gave him a place to direct the anguish. He attached his inner turmoil to the tears across his skin. To the pain infusing his body. To the misery that would heal with time.