Chapter 19

It seemed that, at last, it was Hunter's turn to face Derick's torment. He flinched just slightly as Derick advanced, yet he remained steadfast. He had vowed not to fight, and he was sticking to that promise. Derick twirled his finger in a circle, signaling Hunter to turn around. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the cuffs from Hunter's wrists. Juliette couldn't tear her gaze away from the bruises—red and purple rings left behind. She had caused those bruises by fastening the handcuffs too tightly.

Hunter's arms fell to his sides, his fingers curling but never rising in defense. Derick nudged him sideways and detached the chains from the wall. They dangled loosely from Hunter's wrists, no longer restraining him.

"Take off your shirt," Derick commanded.

Hunter glanced at Juliette before pulling his shirt over his head and threading the chains through the sleeves. He tossed it aside. For half a second, Juliette stared—he was leaner than she had anticipated. But her focus quickly shifted as Derick kicked the back of Hunter's leg, making him stumble before shoving him to his knees.

"Just ask," Hunter muttered, jerking his shoulder away from Derick's grip. He watched Derick slip off his belt and wrap it around his hand. A derisive smile curled on Hunter's lips as he shook his head with a single, bitter laugh.

"That's unoriginal," he remarked under his breath.

"For good reason," Derick replied coldly. "I should have done this when you were in grade school."

Grade school. He regretted not beating Hunter back when he was eleven—or even younger—perhaps ten or nine. Was it simply for existing? Hunter had always been well-behaved, respectful even to a stepfather who never hid his disdain for him. Derick was fortunate; not every child would be so understanding when their parent remarried. Juliette certainly wouldn't have been if her father had chosen someone like Derick.

Juliette shook herself out of her thoughts and twisted against her restraints, only giving herself rope burns in the process. She yelled furiously at Derick. He had never wanted Hunter; he should never have married Hunter's mother if he held so much resentment towards him. It wasn't Hunter's fault that he signed up for something he didn't truly want.

"Don'f! Don'f 'urf 'im!" Juliette thrashed desperately against her bonds.

Derick adjusted his belt in his hand and struck without warning. The leather slapped against bare skin with a sickening sound, followed by blood welling up as the buckle carved into Hunter's back.

Hunter flinched but kept his eyes wide open, blinking only with each lash of the belt. He remained silent.

"Shop if! SHOP!" Juliette screamed helplessly, knowing full well that pleading wouldn't make Derick stop—but still, she couldn't hold back the words from tumbling out of her mouth. It was all she could remember how to say at that moment.

Hunter pressed his hands against his thighs, and Juliette watched as his fingers dug into his legs with every blow. His jaw clenched, neck muscles straining, yet he remained defiantly silent. Tears pooled in his eyes.

Juliette twisted, kicked, and struggled desperately against her restraints. She screamed at Derick to stop until her voice gave out, then continued to plead and cry. Hunter flinched, tears spilling down both sides of his face.

"I'm fi—" he tried to say, but the belt cracked against him, cutting him off. Juliette winced as she heard the buckle connect with his spine. For the first time, Hunter cried out in pain.

A cruel smile spread across Derick's face. Juliette longed to smash it; he had such a punchable nose. He struck Hunter harder, intent on eliciting another scream. Blood flew from the end of the buckle as it came down again. When it hit Hunter's back once more, Juliette sobbed in despair.

"Fine." The word was almost unrecognizable from Hunter's trembling lips. "I'm—fine."

It was a blatant lie. Derick showed no signs of stopping as he relentlessly whipped the belt across Hunter's back. Each strike left fresh wounds, mingling sweat and blood on his skin. Hunter leaned forward, placing a shaky hand on the carpet to steady himself, but his breaths were shallow and ragged. He couldn't even open his eyes anymore.

Juliette had lost count of the blows. She stopped struggling and hung limply; all she could do was watch her best friend suffer just feet away from her. Hunter braced himself on both arms now, shaking so violently it blurred her vision. Six more hits and his elbows buckled a little more with each one, bringing him closer to collapse.

Derick finally let go of the belt, but Juliette felt no relief before he kicked Hunter in the back. Hunter's arms gave out entirely, sprawling him face-first onto the floor. One arm was pinned beneath him while the other extended above his head motionless for too many agonizing seconds.

"Hunter," Juliette weakly sobbed, watching his shoulders heave with labored breaths.

Derick nudged him sharply in the ribs with his foot. "How're you feeling, kid?"

Hunter groaned and dragged his arm from under his body. "Peachy," he rasped as he attempted to push himself up on trembling fists. Derick then stepped on Hunter's back with force that drove all air out of him.

"Stay put; I'm not finished yet," Derick said coldly.

What did he mean by that? He'd already hurt him enough; it should be over by now. Juliette couldn't tear her eyes away from the crisscrossing lines marking Hunter's back—purple welts oozing blood and inflamed at the edges all the way up to his shoulders.

Derick gathered the necessary tools to secure two circular hooks into the floor, with Hunter lying motionless between them. Once the hooks were firmly bolted in place, Derick threaded the chains on Hunter's wrists through the newly installed hooks, pinning him face down with his arms stretched out to his sides.

Derick picked up an object leaning in the corner of the room—a golf club. He tossed it in his hand, inspecting its head. Juliette screamed and begged. Her pleas lacked any aggression; she sobbed hysterically, repeating "please" and "no" so many times they lost their meaning.

With a bottle of water in hand, Derick took a sip before pouring the rest over Hunter. The water turned pink as it flowed off him. He recoiled, clenching his fists against the stinging pain. Juliette listened to his labored breathing.

"I'w kiw you, I wiw kiw you!" Juliette shouted, thrashing around. She forced herself to calm down, maneuvering her tongue around the rag to articulate clearly. "I – will fucking – kill you."

"Is that right?" Derick responded with a grin.

He swung the golf club down, causing such an intense panic in Juliette that her screams stuck in her throat. She jerked as if she had been hit herself and turned her head away, yet still caught sight of the club striking Hunter from the corner of her eye. Tears drenched her face; they tasted salty on her tongue; dried ones coated her cheeks as new ones poured out.

"No." Her voice was a whimper followed quickly by hysterical sobs.

Each "thwack" of the club slamming into Hunter felt like a knife twisting in Juliette's heart. The blows kept coming—a dozen or more. Hunter convulsed; the chains tightened around his wrists, preventing him from curling up as he desperately tried to do. He abandoned any effort to stay silent; each strike elicited a cry.

Derick grew more frenzied. His blows became relentless, and soon there was no pause between them. He kicked Hunter's ribs whenever he wasn't pummeling him with the club, as if one method of beating wasn't enough.

Hunter stopped moving. No sound escaped him; he lay limp and lifeless. His body still twitched under the assault, but it was like beating a sandbag now. Juliette watched him bruise deeply; despite the abuse being ongoing, he was already black and blue and green.

How long does it take to beat someone to death? There was no sign that Hunter was still alive; she couldn't detect any breath or movement—his eyes closed—nothing but the club's force animating his body.

And Derick hadn't slowed down one bit.

Juliette craned her neck to look at her bound hands. She tugged and twisted desperately at the ropes around her wrists. Derick was murdering Hunter—or maybe he already had—and if so, Derick might turn his attention elsewhere next. She stopped crying; energy couldn't be wasted on tears now. She wriggled her hand with all her might, ignoring how the ropes tore into her skin until—praise be to a God she had never believed in—she fell free at last.