Chapter 15

**Darius's POV**

We're back at the house, specifically in her room. I've managed to tuck her under the duvet, though I insisted Rebecca give her a hot bath—a futile attempt to bring some life back into her. The last time I felt this kind of fear, this gnawing dread that someone might die, was when I lost Dora's mom—my girlfriend, the one woman who could have me on my knees, begging for more no matter how many times she pushed me away.

The night is slipping into dawn. I should leave, yet I'm rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from her peaceful face. Her soft, lush lips, the faint twitch of her eyes as she dreams—each detail pulls me in deeper.

I scowl, disgusted with myself. What the hell am I doing?

"Mommy..." Her voice is barely a whisper, but it hits me like a sledgehammer, making my heart stutter. I hold my breath, listening to her soft murmur. Is she dreaming of her mother? I suddenly realize I haven't checked on Frank and his wife since I took Allison.

I'm frozen in the chair, fighting the urge to brush away a single strand of red hair that's fallen across her face. It's a perfect strand, shimmering in the dim light, but if I move it, she might wake up—might even slap herself thinking it's a bug.

"Shit, what am I doing?" I mutter through clenched teeth, forcing myself out of the chair. Every muscle in my body protests as I turn away and leave the room without looking back.

I need to go to the madhouse, alone. There's a storm brewing, and I can't afford any distractions. If I'm right, Lucas is the eye of this storm, but it's already spiraling out of control. He stole the route file for next month's shipments. If our rivals get hold of that, they could hijack our containers, crippling us in one swift move.

Just as I reach my bedroom, my phone buzzes.

Private number. It's probably one of my spies, so I answer quickly.

"Who is this?"

"Baby... it's me."

The voice grates on my nerves, sending a wave of irritation through me. Who is this again?

"Err, who are you?"

"Mandy... I sucked your dick last week. I wanted to know if you—"

"Mandy? How did you get my number?"

Her silence speaks volumes, clearly insulted.

"Doesn't matter. I just wanted to know if you'd like me to grind the tension out of your cock with my wet pu—"

I cut the call, a snarl curling my lips. I don't have time for this bullshit. I can't even remember the last time I had sex—last week, maybe? Damn, that's not good. Haven't had sex this week? Damn you, Allison.

Mandy might be useful later, but right now, I have more pressing matters. I'm headed to the madhouse, and I'm leaving Allison out of it. She should be grateful that some part of me still wants to keep her innocence intact, shielding her from the horrors that lurk in the shadows of my world.

The madhouse is a festering dungeon hidden beneath the polished facade of an ordinary restaurant—a place where sanity goes to die. The stench hits you first—a nauseating blend of metallic blood, acrid sweat, and the sickly sweetness of fear, clinging to the damp air like a suffocating fog. The walls, once a sterile white, are now chipped and cracked, marred with deep gouges and splatters of dried blood, silent witnesses to the torment that festers within.

This is more than a basement—it's a labyrinth of nightmares. Each section of the madhouse is a descent into madness, designed to strip away the human spirit layer by layer. The faint-hearted break quickly in the outer rooms, subjected to relentless beatings and psychological torture that shatter their will to resist. Their desperate pleas for mercy echo through the narrow, dimly lit corridors, amplifying the sense of despair.

Deeper in, the true horrors await. Here, the worst offenders—traitors, rivals, anyone the Hunters deem worthy of special attention—are kept. The walls are stained darker, almost black with the blood of past victims. The floors are slick with bodily fluids that have seeped into the cracks, and the air is thick with the low hum of electricity, mingling with the guttural groans of men who have long since lost their minds. Each room is a chamber of horrors, equipped with meticulously maintained instruments of torment—chains, racks, cattle prods, surgical tools, all ready for use. In one corner, a rusty iron chair stands as a grotesque centerpiece, its arms fitted with restraints, its surface burned and scarred from countless sessions.

My skin crawls every time I descend these stairs, a visceral reaction I can never shake, no matter how often I enter this place. The madhouse isn't just a place of physical torture—it's a twisted arena of psychological warfare, where the Hunters break men piece by piece until nothing remains but a hollow shell. Even for someone like me, who has seen the worst of humanity, the madhouse is a constant reminder that no matter how powerful you are, something darker always lurks beneath the surface, ready to consume you if you let your guard down.

I've sat in one of those iron chairs. It changed me, twisted me into the hardened devil I am today. My father put me there, torturing me for days because he thought I was too weak to be his heir. He fashioned me into the monster I've become.

I'm headed to the section reserved for our worst enemies, where Zain put Lucas. As much as I loathe Lucas's existence, I drag myself to the room, the screams behind the walls sending a twisted pleasure through me. Betrayal is something I can never forgive.

There's no door to this room, so when I enter, I do so silently, arms folded across my chest as I watch our psychiatrist work on Lucas. This is the hardest part, the one I invented—the mental torture.

My family might revel in physical pain, but I reserve that for those whose minds are too strong to break. Those people are rare.

"Mr. Lucas," the psychiatrist begins, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I'm sorry you feel like you're not enough, that you have to be like Darius in every way. I heard your mother compared you to him every single day. That must have been torture…"

Lucas is battered, his face a mess of bruises—Zain's handiwork, no doubt. Zain is addicted to violence, a trait my father encouraged until I proved myself the better heir. Zain lacks the ability to lead; he's more of a thug, better suited to following orders. And let's not forget—I'm the older brother.

A broken sigh escapes Lucas. "I know what this place is. You can't break me," he says, his voice flat, his eyes dead. Of course, he knows this place. He's aware of my reformation, but knowing about the madhouse and surviving it are two different things. His gaze meets mine at the doorway, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

"Darius. You're here," he says weakly, a slow, sardonic smile tugging at his lips.

Everyone's attention shifts to me—the doctor, Zain—each acknowledging me with a nod or a bow.

"Welcome, boss," the doctor says, earning a brief nod from me. Zain just gives me a half-hearted nod, the closest thing to respect he can muster. I roll my eyes, ignoring him.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Hi, Lucas. Your entire family has been taken," I inform him coldly. His family's existence is a closely guarded secret, one I'm certain only I've uncovered.

Shock flashes across his face before he quickly masks it. "I don't have a family, D. You and I both know I'm not capable of handling one. It's too much work," he lies, the blatant denial making me want to punch him.

"Yeah, I know about that." I do, which is why he kept them hidden, far away in another country. But I found them. I sent them surprise tickets under his name, brought them from Spain to a luxury hotel in town. I won't hurt them—I just need to show Lucas that I have the upper hand. Then I can get what I want, and be home early enough to have dinner with my daughter and... tend to my newest acquisition.

I pull out my phone and play the video—his family in one of my hotels, his baby mama and their two boys, his sons, laughing, oblivious. The moment he sees them, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

"And who the hell are those?" he asks, his voice wild, desperate, pretending he doesn't know them.

I smile coldly. "I have a gas pipe, carbon monoxide, connected to that room. It's disguised to smell like lavender deodorant, so when it's turned on, your family won't panic. They'll think it's just wonderful room service. Deny them one more time, and dare me."

The doctor shakes his head in warning, while Zain nods eagerly, wanting Lucas to test my patience. Lucas is drenched in sweat now, his eyes wide with terror, uncertain what to do.

"You don't have to kill innocent people because of me," he pleads, his voice cracking. If Lucas knows anything about me, it's that I don't bluff. "I really don't know them."

Mistake. Big mistake.

"Okay. Wouldn't hurt if I put them to sleep now, would it? Time to press the button..." I sing the last face, about pressing a random button on my phone...

"Wait! Shit! You control the gas from your phone!?" He shrieks in horror, his altered tone taking me back. "No. Please. Don't press the button. I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything you need to know."