WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE.Lucian stood at the door of the dimly lit warehouse, watching his prey. The man sat tied to a chair in the center of the room, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his face, his eyes still closed from the sedative his men had injected him with earlier. Lucian watched him, his gaze cold and detached, the man before him was once his trusted right-hand man, his assistant. Ben. Lucian allowed himself a moment to take in the sight. The last time they had faced each other, it had been in a storm of gunfire, in the alley behind the warehouse around six months ago. Lucian could still feel the ghost of pain in his shoulder from the bullet that had torn through him that evening. The wound had mostly healed, but the betrayal remained, raw, like a wound that refused to close. Tonight, he would make Ben understand. Not by killing him, no, death would be too quick, too merciful. He wanted him to feel every bit of pain, that he would wish to die, but
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