I’ve only ever been inside the lodge once, so I don’t really have any recollection of what it looked like before. But knowing the type of man Aziah’s father was, it looked a hell of a lot nicer than it does now.
It only takes me a moment to find the brittle old man sitting in the chair. Disgust and anger rolls in my stomach.
When Aziah opened the basement door two days ago and I saw
my living nightmare lying on the bed, my first instinct was to huddle in a corner in fear. Seeing Mr. Masters again brought back every painful night in the Hall. Since then, that fear has disappeared, because I know Aziah would do everything in his power before he let anything happen to me. My brother, JW, and Judge would as well.
Deacon Masters has no power. He’s been stripped of everything and is now… nothing.
I take him in, and I’m satisfied when I find he’s been strapped down to the chair by his legs, arms, and around his neck, his mouth covered with tape. His shirt is missing, showcasing a bunch of scars and scabbed-over lacerations. His ribs and collarbone poke out of his torso, as if he’s been starved.
On closer inspection, I note it’s not rope that’s tying him to the chair, but some type of wire with spikes. His wrists where the wire digs into his skin are bloody. I have no doubt his ankles are in the same condition underneath his pants. The wire around his neck isn’t as tight, so there’s no blood, but I can tell it’s close to cutting into him. I wish it would. I want it to saw all the way through to his spine.
My eyes move around the room to find Trouble with a hard scowl on his face standing directly behind the chair, JW leaning casually against a wall, and Judge with his arms crossed over his chest. All eyes are on Mr. Masters.
I feel my hand being squeezed, and I look up into Aziah’s bottomless black eyes.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice deep and tone serious.
“One hundred percent.”
His jerks his chin up. Palming the back of my head, he tugs me forward and plants a kiss on my forehead.
Feeling eyes on me, I look over and meet Trouble’s concerned gaze. I nod at him to let him know I’m okay. I’m more than okay.
Aziah turns back to his father and stalks across the room. I follow behind him at a slower pace. He rips the tape from his mouth and tosses it to the side. I stop until I’m standing just behind him to the right. Mr. Masters’s eyes move from Aziah to me, then back to Aziah.
“Did you know?” Aziah asks, his arms relaxed at his sides but his hands balled into tight fists. “Did you fuckin’ know Rella was alive?”
Mr. Masters releases a sinister laugh, and it reminds me of the times he would laugh during Hell Night. Nothing ever boded well when he laughed like that. A chill races down my spine, and I step closer to Aziah.
“Oh, I knew.”
He coughs, then groans when the wire bites into his neck. Satisfaction shoots through me when a bead of blood rolls down his throat.
The look in his eyes turns evil when he hisses out his next words. “It was my idea to send her to the Moores’ friends. And I enjoyed every fucking second you mourned her loss.”
The words barely leave his lips before Aziah is launching forward, his fist hitting his father and knocking his head to the side. Mr. Masters screams, and call me whatever you want, but I relish the sound. I’ve screamed hundreds of times because of the things he made Aziah and me do. It’s about time he screamed for us.
When Aziah takes a step back, I see why Mr. Masters screamed. It wasn’t from Aziah’s fist, but from the wire now implanted into his neck. Blood runs from the wounds, covering his torso. He’s not dead though. His chest still rises, and he’s moaning low in his throat.
Aziah’s face is calm as he casually walks over to a table and picks up a roll of duct tape and tears off a strip. Mr. Master’s eyes slit open, and he lets out another groan when Aziah sets his head back straight against the chair and slaps the tape over his mouth.
“That’s all I needed to know,” he grunts. He steps to the side and turns to me. “You said you wanted to help. He’s yours to do with whatever you want.”
I feel like a child on Christmas morning. I don’t even question the immense thrill filling my veins. Maybe I should be concerned for my mental state. Maybe I should be repulsed by what I’m getting ready to do. A normal person wouldn’t be so excited about the thought of hurting another person. But I’m not a normal person. I’m fucked-up. And Mr. Masters played a big role in making it so. He made me like this by forcing Aziah to touch me. By hurting his own son in front of me. By making me believe the only way to get away was to kill myself. By sending me away to live with people who abused me for fourteen years. By taking me away from my brother and Aziah.
It only takes me a moment to figure out what I want to do. My feet carry me over to the table Aziah grabbed the tape from. On it are a couple of knives, some rubber gloves, a handheld propane torch, a saw, a pair of pliers, a black bag, and a few other tools I don’t know the names of. I pick up one of the knives. It’s about six inches in length and should work perfectly.
I turn to walk back over to the chair, but spin back at the last moment and grab a pair of rubber gloves. I certainly don’t want to touch him with my bare hands.
All eyes in the room are on me as I approach Mr. Masters. I stop in front of his chair and look at him, letting all my hate for the man blaze in my eyes.
“I was going to ask if you regret what you did, but going by your response a moment ago, I already know the answer.” I press the tip of the blade to his sternum, right over his heart. I push until I feel the tip sink into his skin. He grunts beneath the tape. I shrug. “It really wouldn’t matter if you did. You’ve already committed your sins, so you need to pay regardless.”
His hands begin wiggling underneath the wire, and Aziah tenses beside me. Trouble, who’s still standing behind the chair, walks around and kneels beside one of the arms, then twists some type of dial. Mr. Masters eyes widen, and he tries to scream behind the tape. I’m mesmerized as I watch the wire tighten around his wrist, cutting deeper into his flesh. Trouble walks around and does the same to the other wrist.
I pull the knife away from his sternum and drop my eyes to Mr. Masters’s lap. My lips curls up in disgust, remembering the pain he caused Aziah every time he forced himself inside his son, which in turn forced Aziah deeper inside me.