Grim

Louis was always one who enjoyed power. And he was good at fully using it to his advantage.

It's probably the complete control and power he had in that moment that had a wicked grin gracing his lips as he stood a few feet away from the iron bed. Or it could be the blissful feeling he got when he heard the muffled pleas and desperate struggles a few feet away from him.

It was music to his fucked up ears.

The room was brightly lit because he didn't want to ruin a perfect moment with dim lights. No. This was going to be too much fun to waste the moment with darkness.

It was cold, but Louis had no problem with it. In fact, he throughly enjoyed the cold. Besides, he wasn't the one lying almost entirely naked on the iron bed. He shot a quick glance at the sound of small grunts and sharp squeaks of leather straps rubbing against human skin. He felt his neck twitch and his fingers were restlessly grabbing onto the hammer's handle.

"Move again and I'll rip your guts out," Louis menacingly ordered. And just like that, it was silent. The room held a deafening silence Louis suddenly hate. He needed to hear desperate screams and cries begging for mercy. There's no satisfaction if his toy wasn't begging for his life.

Louis looked over his shoulder at the restrained man and smirked when he saw tears flowing down his cheeks. He was crying like a child.

'Much better.' Louis thought as he turned around to face him.

Louis really thought it was a shame to have to do this to him. He was so young and genuinely an incredibly smart kid.

He would have made it.

If he stayed in university and didn't drop out to work for Louis, he would have made it far in life. But he was greedy and only cared about money. A few thousand pounds is a lot of money to steal and Louis still doesn't understand why he thought they'd never find out.

Of course, he would.

This is his life, he had to have control over every little thing that affected him and if that means putting thieves into place, then so be it.

"Do you know what we do to thieves?" Louis asked as he walked at a steady pace to the bed, his shoes clicking against the smooth concrete floor. Louis felt euphoric in that moment, much like the first time he hit a blunt.

It was a feeling of complete excitement laced with nervous awe in the deep pits of his guts to the top of his head, clouding his mind.

"Let me show you," Louis looked down at the man. Dirty. Sickening. Unloyal.

The man on the iron bed shuffled nervously, but Louis didn't mind. By the end of this, he wouldn't be shuffling at all. Louis guessed the bed must be awfully uncomfortable, too—it's made out of metal, of course, it would be.

So, there he was, almost naked on the bed (Louis was kind enough to let him wear his boxers), shaking relentlessly as he was bound to the bed with leather straps buckled on tightly. His wrists, ankles, and head were held down by the straps, which made it difficult for him to move around much. Louis always hated it when they struggled and made it difficult for him to continue peacefully.

"Mr. Foster, look what you did to yourself," Louis taps his knee with the hammer, a cuboid shape, the size of half of Louis' palm. Fairly small but it did the damage it needed too.

Leaning forward, Louis ripped off his gag, causing the man to take a deep breath and cough hard for a few seconds. He sobered up and focused his fearful eyes on Louis who glared at him. Louis was getting bored.

"I didn't—I didn't know!" He cried, panicking. Louis scoffed, holding the hammer up and waving it around.

"You didn't know? You didn't know that stealing from me is wrong? Well, now you know." Louis slammed the hammer down on his knee, the joint cracking and shifting under the sudden impact. Foster let out a pained cry and uncontrollably struggled under the straps. His grunts and groans echoed in the room as Louis gave him a small smile.

"Do you believe in God?" Louis peered over at him.

Foster gulped nervously, the swallow was loud enough for Louis to hear, and slowly opened his mouth to answer, not daring to look at Louis.

"I-I'm Hin-Hindu," he finally said.

"Then, you'll need them all," Louis snorted.

Louis suddenly brought the hammer down on the same knee again with such force and determination, the joint popped and his shin laid limply on the bed as his thighs quivered. There was something satisfying about the loud crackling of bones, it sent a wave of delight throughout his body. Foster was sobbing.

"P-Please, let me go!" He bawled, his body already starting to bruise. He was an ugly crier, Louis decided. Really ugly.

"But I'm the reaper, this is my job," Louis laughed, mocking his voice and hit him again.

This time, on his mouth.

Foster's lips flattened due to the impact and ripped around the edges, making his mouth wider than it actually was. His teeth immediately shattered and chipped, blood spurting directly onto Louis' black shirt.

Louis looked down at his shirt, unbothered as he dipped his finger in the blood as Foster was choking and coughing. He then smeared the blood on Foster's cheek with a grin.

"Choking on your teeth, huh?" Louis snickered. "That's why you should chew slowly, it could go down the wrong pipe."

Louis laughed louder than Foster wailed. His uncontrollable fingers gripped the hammer tightly and his hands worked on their own accord as the hammer thudded dully against his skin.

Foster's skin was tearing and soft flesh, drowned in blood, was beginning to show. And when Louis hit the raw flesh twice, pink chunks of meat would fly out, like confetti, contaminating Louis' shirt and face. He simply flicked it away and watched it smack cold on the floor.

Blood pooled around Foster who was blinking in and out of consciousness but Louis wasn't letting him off so easily.

He quickly snatched a knife from the table behind him and used the back of it to press down on the open cut on his abdomen. To most, the sound of guttural groans and shrieks would be too loud and displeasing but Louis was enjoying his time like a child at a funfair. Suddenly, Louis' face brightened as he thought of something.

Hastily, he leaped to a set of metal cabinets and took out a bottle that you had to press down before you screw open, much like medicine bottles. He read the label and grinned before walking back to Foster who was now breathing heavily.

Hydrofluoric Acid.

Louis flashed a grin at Foster who squinted his eyes shut when Louis opened the bottle and placed it directly above the open flesh.

Without much thought, Louis poured the acid onto his hammered cut, watching the skin sizzle and burn and pop. Fat bubbled around the edges as blood dried in clumps and clots, rolling limply off the edge of his abdomen onto the blood splattered bed.

Foster's cries were of no use. At most, he was losing his voice, not convincing Louis to stop.

The smell of burnt skin, sharp acids, a heavily sweating body, and raw flesh suffocated Louis but he loved it.

He dipped his finger deep into a cut that he hadn't bothered with before, he watched Foster whimper lowly due to lack of energy and took his finger off. He inspected the blood on his finger and menacingly wiped a cross above Foster's heart.

"X marks the spot," Louis whispered.

He delved the knife deep into his chest, twisting and turning. He took out the knife only to plunge it right back in and drag it down. It was difficult and needed a lot of energy as his bones were in the way but it managed to work. Foster died from intense stress when the acid was poured on him but Louis didn't notice. He continued to stab and poke at everything with his free hand. He bothered the pink flesh, like a curious child, and picked the skin off his shirt with a small grunt.

Louis wiped the blood off his face using a towel from the countertop and sighed pleasantly, despite feeling the stickiness of the blood. He rested his hands flat on the table behind him and leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him.

He looked around the mess in the room, the dead body, the blood, the flesh, the hammer, the knives, the acid, and for once, he was disappointed with himself because this torture should have lasted much longer.

'Maybe next time,' he thought with a smile.