Page 41 of His Last Will

“You wanted to see me?”

Ashton gestures for us to move to his wall of computers. The workroom is sterile and organized, similar to how I would describe the man himself. Less morgue vibes—since he typically leaves the torture and death up to me—more steel hospital office. Obviously, with significantly better funding than your typical general hospital, given the high-tech features, like the twenty or so monitors that I am now looking at and a seemingly unlimited supply of chemicals. The door, the cabinets, the shelves, and even the chairs are silver steel, which makes sense given how easy it is to clean. Blood just slides right off it. I would know.

With a few clicks of the keyboard, the monitor in front of me lights up. “Shade says attacks against the system have increased lately.” Shade is our resident hacker. I am not sure if anyone has actually placed eyes on them. When they applied for the job over a decade ago, it was via video, and Shade was sitting in a dark room wearing a hood. You couldn’t see their face even if you wanted to. To this day, I have no idea if Shade is a man, a woman, or a nonbinary person. Literally could not even pick Shade out of a lineup. They didn’t even really fill out an application. Shade just sent a link in an email, shared their screen, and we all watched as they hacked our banking system. Given the tens of millions we paid ‘the best hacker in the world’ to put the security in place, Anthony didn’t need to know more and hired Shade on the spot.

On the screen is a graph that appears to show exponential growth over the last five months. “What kind of attacks? Do we know what they’re looking for?”

Ash shakes his head. “Nothing concrete. So far, Shade says it looks like they are going after personnel files and some of my more recent data collection.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t switched up the vials lately, have you? We are still working on your reverse pain receptor study, right?”

Ashton has worked for years finding a formula to enhance the pain receptors in the brain to increase the feeling without the attacker having to put in more than minimal effort. That study was more appealing to me than the current one. Ash’s goal now is to eliminate the feeling of pain as opposed to increasing it. His idea is to turn the pain receptors off and imitate a CIPA-like response in the subject. CIPA stands for congenital insensitivity to pain and anhydrosis. It is a very rare and dangerous condition because with the inability to feel pain comes the ability to continue in a state of dying. In terms of The Order, it means creating an army of super soldiers that will fight well past the point of no return. Which most likely explains why someone is trying to hack the system. The value of Ashton’s current research would be exponential if it succeeds, placing The Order far above the rest, including the government.

Nodding his head, Ashton pulls up a chart on another screen. “The study has been pretty steady. Not a lot of progress has been made despite my best efforts. This is the chart they gained access to,”—Ashton points to a table of numbers—“but it won’t tell them anything. Without the corresponding table and graphic, it’s a long list of numbers without meaning.”

“Did Shade catch them?”

“Shade stopped the hack but was unable to catch the intruder on the other side. The break-in came from someone with a comparable skill level—their words, not mine. Lots of rerouting and hiding locations; they essentially became a ghost.” Ashton runs his fingers through his hair, giving him a disheveled look that I rarely see. “If someone found out what I’m doing, then that means we have a leak.”

My jaw hardens. The number of people allowed anywhere near Ashton’s office or my morgue can be counted on two hands. Which would mean that it’s someone close to us. “Get me a list of anyone who has access to your office or records. I am going to have to set up a little game of Clue: Torture the Suspects version.”

Ashton smirks beside me. “I’ve never heard of that version.”

“Oh, it’s the fun version. I am going to line up our suspects and ask them questions until I solve the crime.”

Lifting his eyebrow, Ashton encourages me to continue. “And?”

“Well, each question they fail to answer will earn them a little torture. And if they fail to answer the questions correctly, they die—basic rules. Plus, think of all the options for torture devices: candlestick, wrench, dagger, pistol, rope, and if I remember correctly, a lead pipe.

“But don’t worry, I can be nice. I’ll let them pick their own torture device and maybe even how it’s used, if they’re creative enough. I’m altruistic like that.”

A cruel smile breaks out across his face. “I may have to watch this game.”

I shudder a little thinking of being watched while I torture someone. Watching, being watched, death—just the thought hardens my dick enough that I need to readjust. “Please do, I love being watched.”

Ashton glances back over at the table at Z. “Maybe I’ll even bring my new pet with me.”

I’m glad I’m not that guy. Ashton grabs some string from a nearby drawer and walks back to Z, already ignoring my existence.

“Special precautions must be taken with you, my pet,” Ashton addresses Z as he grabs his still-hard cock, then wraps the string around it, pulling Z’s balls away from his body as he starts to loop it. And instead of screaming like every other man who has been brought to the facility when their cock is fondled, Z lets out an audible moan through the gag.

Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay and watch for a little while longer. After all, it’s still torture if the man is continuously denied his release. Finding a spot on the wall, I take my dick out and get ready for the show. Tugging on my shaft, I revel a little in the friction. If only Ari were here with her hot, wet mouth wrapped around it.

I let out a sigh, thinking of her on her knees before me. Next time.

Ashton looks over at me, throws up his middle finger, then gets back to the writhing, bound body before him.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

AIDEN

When Brodie was alive, I don’t think I truly appreciated his attendance at meetings for The Order. We were two hours into what was turning out to be a day-long meeting. And I was this close to stabbing someone.

This meeting was for council members only, which meant that the biggest assholes of The Order were all seated at one table. Adrian, Cole, Ryder, Ashton, and Sarah were all in attendance, with Anthony seated at the head of the table and me to his right. It’s amazing that, with the amount of ego in one place, we didn’t blow the roof off this building.

Brodie was right, though, when he said it was all a bunch of talk with very little action, much like what he imagined large board meetings were like for corporations. Which was ridiculous, given we were a goddamn secret society that broke laws on a daily basis. How hard was it to come to the conclusion, go there, threaten them, and if they don’t agree, shoot to kill or drag the body back for a good torture session?