Into the Wolves' Den

by Jon Athan

“Dead already?” Keith whispered. He stood up and said, “You were weaker than I thought.”

He licked the bloody vomit off his lips, then he smirked at Keith.

Keith crouched beside him and said, “You’re dying, but you’re still trying to beat me at this… this game. You want to have the last laugh, you’re trying to get under my skin, but I know you’re scared. It’s over, kid. This… This wonderful life your father created for you… It ends tonight and I’ll get the last laugh.” Rage burning in his eye, Riley responded, “Fuck you. I… I’m not scared of… of anything.” “You’re not laughing anymore, are you?” “Fuck you…”

Keith casually sawed into the base of his penis until he severed it. He threw it at Riley’s face. The bloody slug hit his jaw, then it fell to the floor beside his head.

Keith grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him across the banquet hall. Thanks to his blood and sweat, he slid across the floor with little effort.

Keith pulled him up three stairs. Riley’s left ankle hit the sharp edge of a stair. The impact was enough to cut off his dangling foot. It stayed at the bottom of the stairs.

“She… She was right,” he croaked out, barely audible. “Daddy saved you, daddy got me…”

Drowning wasn’t peaceful or painless. First, the water poured into Riley’s lungs, causing him to cough and retch. His body reacted by forcing his vocal cords to spasm and seal off his airway. So, the water filled his stomach instead. He felt a painful knot in his abdomen while his lungs were deprived of oxygen. The excruciating pain and the slow suffocation sent his mind into a panic.

He passed away in his expensive pool—dickless, footless, armless, lifeless.

He hammered away at Paul’s rib cage, playing his ribs like a xylophone.

The four stab wounds from the tines were shallow but deep enough to scrape his internal organs.

“I could rip you open with a knife, but I want this to last,” Keith said. “It takes more force to stab someone with a fork. I think it hurts more, too.”

The prisoners dreamt of vengeance, but their minds weren’t ready for the extreme violence.

They’ll let me out again, and I’ll make sure every Wolves’ Den burns to the ground… You have my word on that.”

Keith chuckled and cried at the same time. He didn’t shed tears of joy, though. His eyes told a story of tragedy and vengeance, sadness and hatred, redemption and failure.

He got the last laugh, but it wasn’t as sweet as he had imagined.