Free Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse by Glenn Bullion

hide and seek," he shouted into the dark basement.   "Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"
    Jack took the steps one at a time, not in a hurry at all.   Only the light from the first floor let him see.   The stairs trailed off into a wall of darkness.   He was certain Martin was hiding in some nook or cranny somewhere, ready to attack.
    His nose wrinkled as an odd scent reached him.   A mustiness with a mix of cleaning chemicals.
    There was a light-switch on the wall next to him.   He flicked it upward, bathing the basement in a soft glow.
    A rare moment of surprise and awe found its way to the two-hundred-year-old.
    It wasn't so much a basement as it was a dungeon.   Chains and other various restraints were everywhere.   A tiny cage sat in the corner, just large enough to fit a person.   A bowl of water sat against the cinder-block wall, next to a mattress made of hay.   Large harnesses hung from the joists above that Jack at first thought were more restraints, but he recognized them as suspensions used in different sex acts.
    Martin came out of nowhere.   He shouted as he swung the baseball bat, cracking Jack across the temple.   The blow did no damage, but the force spun Jack around and made him stumble.   He regained his footing and glared at Martin.   Martin was backing up a step, cocking the bat back, ready to strike again.
    "Are you shitting me?" Jack said.   "You tried to stab me, throw a knife at me, and you think that puny toothpick will do something?"
    Martin said nothing as he roared again, and lunged forward.   He swung once again, but Jack blocked with his arms easily.   He grabbed the bat from Martin's grasp and swung at his knees.   Martin stumbled, but didn't quite fall, so Jack struck him again.   And again.   He didn't stop until Martin was curled in the fetal position in the middle of the basement.
    Jack dropped the broken bat to the floor and once again took in his surroundings.   He noticed the tray of various torture tools, scalpels, pliers, hammers, against one wall.   A collection of cleaning supplies were in another corner, but there were still spots of blood here and there.
    This was nearly Tina's fate.
    Jack had killed more living creatures than Martin could ever dream of achieving.   Vampires, werewolves, witches, goblins, ghouls, Nazi scientists, bank robbers, rude parking attendants.   He didn't discriminate.   He killed for many reasons.   He killed to achieve a goal, remove an obstacle, or sometimes simply in rage.   But the sexual torture, the need to kill to fill some kind of sick emptiness, Jack couldn't grasp.
    Between the two of them, he wondered who was the bigger monster.
    He looked down at Martin, who continued to moan at his feet.
    "You know, I was serious when I said I'd take you to the police.   I'm a father now, you see.   And I figured I can't just kill the way I used to."   He smiled.   "I have to cut back, like my sister once told me.   But with you…"   He knelt next to him to look Martin in the eye.   "I've changed my mind."
    *****
    An hour later Jack sat in the passenger's seat of Martin's car in the garage.   Martin sat behind the wheel next to him.   He was unrecognizable.   His nose was broken, twisted to the side.   One eye was swollen shut.   There was more blood on his face than visible skin.   His breathing was labored and splashy, from a punctured lung.   He couldn't run, even though his life depended on it.   Both of his tibia were broke, as well as the fibula, which protruded through the skin.
    Every window in the car was up, except for a small crack in the driver's side.   A piece of flex hose was pinched in between the window and frame, with plastic covering the gap, and the other end was hooked to the exhaust.
    Jack laced his hands behind his head, lounging.   If it weren't for the fact he wanted to speed things up by sealing the windows, he'd hang his feet out the side.
    "Well, you couldn't ask for a better way