Chapter 509: Episode 507: Revenge Plan [2]
The blacked-out van hit a deep pothole, sending the ex-husband bouncing hard against the cold metal floor.
He groaned, his shoulders aching terribly from his arms being handcuffed tightly behind his back. It was completely pitch black inside the back of the van. He couldn’t see his own hands. He couldn’t see the walls. For what felt like hours, the van twisted and turned through the city streets, driving deeper and deeper into the unknown.
His heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird fluttering wildly against his ribs. He tried to convince himself this was just a mistake. It had to be a giant misunderstanding. The dirty cops had the wrong guy, right? He was just a small-time crook who had just gotten out of jail. He hadn’t stolen any cartel drugs or heavy weapons. Someone was going to realize they made a huge mistake and let him go.
But then, the van finally slowed down.
He heard the heavy crunch of gravel under the tires. The van drove down a steep, downward slope, the engine echoing loudly like they were driving into a long tunnel.
When the van finally stopped, the engine cut off. The back doors swung open, letting in the dim, ugly yellow glow of old parking garage lights.
Two giant men wearing black ski masks didn’t say a single word. They just reached inside, grabbed him by the back of his dirty green jacket, and dragged him out.
"Hey! Where are we? You can’t do this!" the ex-husband yelled, struggling against their tight grip. His boots scraped across the concrete floor.
The masked men completely ignored him. They dragged him down a long, damp, concrete hallway. There were no windows. There were no signs. They were deep, deep underground, far beneath the busy streets of New York City. The Kings had bought this private, hidden facility using their endless wealth specifically for this exact night. It was totally off the map.
They dragged him up to a giant, heavy steel door. One of the masked men turned a thick metal wheel, and the door groaned open with a loud, heavy creak.
They threw him roughly inside.
He tripped and fell hard onto his knees. Before he could even catch his breath, the two strong men hauled him up and slammed him down into a heavy metal chair that was bolted permanently to the solid concrete floor.
Clink. Clack.
Thick, heavy steel chains were wrapped tightly around his wrists, locking his arms to the arms of the chair. More heavy chains were wrapped around his ankles, locking his boots to the strong legs of the chair. He was completely, totally trapped.
The masked men stepped back. They didn’t punch him, and they didn’t ask him for a confession. They just turned around, walked out of the room, and pulled the giant steel door shut behind them.
BOOM. A massive, heavy lock clicked into place on the outside.
Then, there was absolutely nothing.
The underground room was entirely soundproof. It was so quiet that the ex-husband could hear his own ragged breathing and the fast, panicked thumping of his own heart.
But the worst part was the cold.
The room was freezing. There was no heater, no blankets, and no warm air. The walls were made of thick, damp concrete. It was so incredibly cold that when he let out a shaky breath, he could actually see a small cloud of white mist float in the air. The freezing temperature started to seep right through his dirty green jacket, chilling his bones and making his teeth start to chatter.
"Hey!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing loudly in the small, tight room. "Let me out of here! I didn’t do anything! Help! Somebody help me!"
Nobody answered. Nobody was coming to save him.
He sat there in the freezing, dark room for what felt like an entire lifetime. The cold made his fingers completely numb. His legs cramped up from the tight chains. The silence started to play terrible tricks on his mind. The fake confidence he had back in his motel room completely melted away, leaving him feeling exactly like a trapped, helpless rat in a cage.
Suddenly, a loud, sharp CLANG echoed through the room.
The heavy lock on the outside of the steel door was turning.
A bright, blinding white light hanging directly over his head suddenly clicked on, making him squeeze his eyes shut tightly. The sudden brightness burned his eyes.
The heavy metal door slowly swung open.
Footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. The ex-husband blinked his eyes open, squinting through the bright light, expecting to see the dirty police officers coming back to question him.
Instead, a woman walked into the room.
Roxy stepped right into the cold, bright light. She wasn’t wearing the soft cream-colored sweater anymore. She was dressed for total power. She wore a sleek, sharp black outfit, a thick dark coat resting on her shoulders, and expensive leather boots that clicked sharply against the floor. Her dark curls were pulled back, showing off her beautiful face.
She did not look like the scared, frozen girl from Central Park. She looked completely untouchable. She looked like a Queen.
Right behind her, moving like giant, terrifying shadows, were the Kings.
Zarek, Torian, Syris, Kaelen, Ren, and Caspian stepped into the underground room. They were massive. They had to duck their heads slightly just to fit through the doorframe. They spread out in a perfect half-circle behind Roxy, completely filling the small space with their huge, broad shoulders and their dark, expensive suits.
Zarek reached back and pushed the heavy steel door shut. Boom. They were all locked inside together.
The ex-husband stared at her, his jaw dropping open in pure shock.
His brain started connecting the pieces. The fake drugs. The stolen weapons. The corrupt cops who drove a black van instead of a police car. It wasn’t a cartel mistake. It was her.
"You," the ex-husband gasped, pulling hard against the thick metal chains tying him to the chair. The chains just rattled loudly. He couldn’t move an inch.
His deep fear suddenly twisted into an ugly, toxic anger. His fragile pride couldn’t handle the fact that the girl he used to bully had completely outsmarted him and trapped him. He tried to act tough, falling back on the only thing he knew how to do—being mean.
"You set me up!" he yelled, his face turning an angry, ugly red. He glared at Roxy, spitting his words out like poison. "You think you can scare me, you crazy little witch? You think locking me in a chair makes you tough? You’re nothing! You’re just a weak, pathetic little girl who had to go cry to a bunch of rich guys to fight your battles for you! You are nothing without them!"
He let out a nasty, barking laugh, trying to make himself feel bigger. "What are you going to do, wifey? Cry again?"
Roxy didn’t even blink. She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t look upset. She just stood there, staring at him with perfect, total calm.
But the Kings did not like people insulting their Matriarch.
Kaelen moved so fast that the ex-husband didn’t even see him step forward.
The Wolf King didn’t yell. He didn’t growl. He just stepped around Roxy, completely smooth and silent, and swung his arm.
The sound of Kaelen’s hand hitting the ex-husband’s face echoed like a gunshot in the soundproof room.
The hit was incredibly, terrifyingly hard. The ex-husband’s head snapped violently to the side. The heavy metal chair actually lifted an inch off the concrete floor before slamming back down.
A loud, sharp ringing exploded in the ex-husband’s ears. His vision went completely blurry, filling with tiny white stars. A thick, hot, metallic taste instantly flooded his mouth. He groaned, turning his head back around slowly. He coughed hard and spit a dark glob of red blood right onto his own chin and down onto the concrete floor.
Kaelen stood right over him, his icy blue eyes completely empty of mercy. The Wolf King slowly raised his hand again, ready to break the man’s jaw entirely.
But Roxy calmly raised her hand and placed it gently on Kaelen’s chest.
"That’s enough, Kaelen," Roxy said softly. "Let me handle him."
Kaelen stopped instantly. He nodded his head respectfully and took a step back, melting back into the intimidating wall of giant men behind her.
The ex-husband breathed heavily, his cheek already turning a dark, bruised purple. He looked up at Roxy, and for the very first time in his miserable life, he realized he had made a terrible, fatal mistake. The woman standing in front of him wasn’t his victim anymore.
Roxy took a slow step forward. She stepped right past the invisible boundary, stepping completely into his personal space. She was so close she could smell the sour, terrified sweat pouring off his freezing skin.
She didn’t look angry. She looked completely in control.
Roxy slowly raised her hand and pointed to a dark corner of the room that he hadn’t noticed yet.
Syris reached out and flipped a switch on the wall. A second bright light clicked on in the corner.
Under the light was a long, shiny metal table. Resting perfectly in a neat, straight row on top of the table was a collection of heavy, terrifying tools. There were thick metal hammers, sharp, gleaming blades, rough ropes, and heavy iron pliers. They were cold, clean, and completely scary.
The ex-husband’s blood completely froze in his veins. His dark eyes darted from the table of terrible tools back to Roxy’s beautiful, calm face.
"You remember how much you tortured me in that fancy looking house before?" Roxy whispers, her green eyes turning to absolute ice. "Now, I am going to show you exactly how it feels."
