My fingers drummed impatiently on the cold metal of the table where he lay, bound and gagged, his eyes wide with terror.

"Time's up," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You had your chance."

He whimpered behind the gag, his body trembling as he struggled against the restraints. I leaned down, my face inches from his, and smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

"You thought you could betray me?" I whispered, my breath hot against his skin. "You thought you could run? You should have known better."

His eyes darted to the side, where two of my men stood, their expressions impassive. One held a scalpel, its blade glinting in the dim light. The other held a pair of pliers, their jaws open and ready.

"Please," he mouthed, his voice muffled by the gag. "Please..."

I straightened up, crossing my arms over my chest. "Please what? Please don't do this? Too late for that."

I nodded to the man with the scalpel, who stepped forward, his movements precise and deliberate. The prisoner's eyes widened even further, if that were possible, and he began to thrash wildly, desperate to escape. But there was no escape. Not here. Not from me.

The scalpel pressed against his skin, just below his navel, and he screamed into the gag, his body arching off the table. I watched, unflinching, as the blade sliced through flesh and muscle, drawing a thin line of blood. The smell of it filled the air, sharp and metallic, and I felt a thrill of satisfaction. This was justice. This was revenge.

"Hold him still," I ordered, and the second man moved to grip the prisoner's legs, pinning them to the table. The first man continued to work, his hands steady as he cut deeper, exposing the pale, vulnerable flesh beneath.

The prisoner's screams grew louder, more frantic, but I paid them no mind. This was what he deserved. This was what he had earned.

"Almost there," I murmured, leaning closer to watch. The scalpel moved with precision, slicing through the final layers of tissue until the prisoner's balls were exposed, hanging free and glistening with blood.

"Now," I said, nodding to the man with the pliers. He stepped forward, his expression as cold and emotionless as ever, and reached for the first ball. The prisoner's body jerked violently as the pliers closed around it, and I heard the sickening sound of flesh tearing.

"No!" he screamed, his voice raw and hoarse. "No, please! No!"

But I only smiled wider, watching as the man with the pliers pulled, hard. There was a moment of resistance, then a sudden, wet pop as the ball came free, dangling from the end of the pliers. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the table and splattering onto the floor.

The prisoner's scream turned into a gurgling, choking sound as he fought for breath, his body convulsing with pain. I watched, fascinated, as the man with the pliers moved to the second ball, gripping it with the same cold efficiency.

"One more," I said, my voice soft and almost tender. "Just one more, and it'll all be over."

The prisoner's eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of horror and pleading. But I only smiled, my heart pounding with excitement. This was power. This was control. And I reveled in it.

The pliers tightened around the second ball, and the prisoner's body tensed, every muscle straining against the restraints. Then, with a final, brutal yank, the ball came free, leaving a gaping hole where it had been. Blood poured from the wound, pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor.

The prisoner's body went limp, his head lolling to the side as he gasped for breath. His eyes were half-lidded, his face pale and slick with sweat. I reached out, lifting his chin so that our eyes met once more.

"Remember this," I said softly. "Remember what happens when you cross me."

He didn't respond, his eyes glassy and unfocused. But I didn't need a response. I had made my point.

I turned away, signaling to my men to clean up the mess. They moved quickly, efficiently, wiping away the blood and disposing of the evidence. Within minutes, the table was clean, the only sign of what had happened the faint smell of blood in the air.

As they worked, I walked to the edge of the warehouse, looking out at the city beyond. The lights twinkled in the distance, a stark contrast to the darkness within. I took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of power that coursed through me.

This was my domain. This was my world. And anyone who dared to challenge me would meet the same fate.

I turned back, my gaze falling on the unconscious form of the prisoner. He was barely breathing, his life ebbing away with each passing second. But I didn't care. He had brought this upon himself.

"Take him away," I ordered, my voice cold and commanding. "And make sure he remembers this night."

My men nodded, moving to carry out my orders. As they dragged the prisoner away, I watched, my heart pounding with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation.

There would be others. There always were. And I would be ready.

If you somewhat liked the story and wanted to suggest how to proceed, please let me know.