Perhaps he still held some value—especially when it came to the facts surrounding the Ruiz family’s downfall. But there was no way the King knew someone was interested in reopening that case now. After all, it had been over twenty years.
The moment Chester realized what Katelyn was planning, his face drained of color. If the King wasn’t coming to save him, then his fate was sealed. He would die here.
But Katelyn didn’t give him the chance to protest, nor did she offer him a way to turn the situation around. She lifted her chin slightly, her voice steady and unwavering. “Do it.” She spoke as though she were discussing something as mundane as the weather.
The two men standing beside her obeyed without hesitation, nodding respectfully. “Yes, Miss Bailey.”
One of them stepped forward, a knife in hand. Without a word, he grabbed Chester and tore his shirt open, exposing a wide stretch of his chest. Then, without a second thought, the knife sliced into his arm.
Chester tensed, bracing for unbearable pain. But strangely, it wasn’t as excruciating as he had feared. It hurt—a sharp, stinging burn—but he could endure it. What truly horrified him, however, was what came next. Within moments, the warehouse filled with the sickening aroma of sizzling meat—his own flesh.
The man tending the grill flipped the pieces with skill, cooking them to a golden-brown hue before bringing them to Chester’s mouth. Katelyn’s voice was calm, almost gentle. “Feed him.”
Chester clenched his jaw tightly, his entire body trembling. There was no way he would eat it.
But the man holding the meat didn’t wait for permission. He stepped forward and seized Chester’s face, his fingers digging cruelly into his cheeks. With brutal force, he pried Chester’s mouth open. Before Chester could resist, the warm, greasy meat was shoved inside.
g?ν.0; novels
How could Chester find it even remotely tolerable? It was his own flesh. A wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. His body convulsed, his stomach twisting in violent rebellion. He gagged, desperately trying to spit it out. Katelyn watched the scene unfold with an air of detached indifference, as though it held no significance to her at all. She leaned back and murmured lazily, “If he refuses to talk, keep feeding him. Make sure he eats all of it.”
Chester’s body shuddered uncontrollably. His mind reeled. They would force him to eat all his own flesh? The mere thought made his stomach churn violently. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled not to vomit.
His captors had their orders. They remained unfazed, continuing their gruesome task with cold precision.
The next piece of meat was forced down his throat, past the point where he could spit it back up. And when that was done, the blade met his arm once again.
The nausea, the agony, the sheer horror of what was happening—it was unbearable. He turned his burning gaze toward Katelyn, his voice hoarse with fury. “You sick—!”
.
.
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