Chapter 24: Jason’s Dark Plan-II

Jason’s POV

That bitch continued to sleep the entire day after she was saved from the allergic reaction.

I had cuffed her wrist so she wouldn’t pull any stunt, especially with Roman not around to keep watch on her. And I had no interest in staying by her side and ruining my mood, despite Kael told me to take care of her.

Though unwilling, I brought food for her, but she didn’t eat any, and I didn’t insist. The food lay untouched on the coffee table.

Night arrived, and it was time to execute the plan I had for that bitch. But I had to tread carefully to not let any of my mate brothers know what I was up to.

Kael returned home late after finishing his work at the office and went straight to his room after having dinner with me and Lucian. Once Kael was in his room, he never came out till morning unless there was an emergency which strictly required his attention.

Lucian had gone out to inspect the pack’s perimeter security. He wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

Roman still hadn’t returned, and Rafe was with him.

That left me alone—giving me the space I needed to carry out my plan.

I made my way to her room. It was dimly lit, cloaked in the kind of silence that made every step sound louder than it should. She was sleeping again. Still.

I walked over, uncuffed her wrist and then nudged her thigh with my foot—not too hard, just enough to wake her.

Her eyes fluttered open, landing on me.

"Get up and come with me," I said coldly, my voice even, sharp.

She sat up slowly, sluggishly, and the pace of her movements grated against my patience.

"Hurry the fuck up. You’re not dead yet, so don’t act like it."

She slipped out of bed. I noticed her bandaged wrapped feet trembled slightly as they touched the floor, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound or show any pain on her face.

So good at enduring pain, huh? Let’s see how long that lasts once I start.

I walked ahead without a word, and she followed in silence. We made our way to the rear of the house, stepping outside toward the stable in the rear of the vast estate.

Most of the property stretched into dense woods and forested land—just the way we werewolves preferred it, even in a world filled with luxury and modern technology.

Outside, the air was chilling, and I noticed her flinch the moment it surrounded her—her arms circling in front of her chest in reflex.

She was wearing the same loose, thin hospital gown that barely reached her knees, looking like it was hung on her like fabric on a hanger. The wind teased the gown, fluffing it and sending shivers through her body—but I didn’t care.

But I didn’t care.

She had no footwear. Her bandaged feet were forced to tread directly on the cold ground. Still, I didn’t stop or slow my pace.

With her slow pace, it took more time to reach the stable.

By the time we stopped in front of the shed I intended to bring her to, I could already see sweat clung to her skin despite the cold, and her breathing was ragged, each inhale sounding heavier than the last. She was clearly exhausted.

Ignoring it, I opened the door of the shed and told her, "Get in."

She looked at me with a wary gaze. She must have guessed by now—I didn’t bring her here for no reason.

"Don’t worry," I said flatly. "I’m not going to fuck your disgusting cunt. Now hurry the fuck up. I don’t like to wait."

Her steps were heavy, dragging, but she moved and entered the shed without a word.

I followed behind her and shut the door.

The inside of the shade everything needed to tend to horses in the stable was stored. Most of it was covered with hay pilled in the corner, even scattered across the floor. The dimly lit lamps made everything visible inside.

I picked up the chair resting against the far wall and placed it at the center of the shed.

"Sit," I ordered.

Her body stiffened, but she obeyed without question.

I walked over to the back corner, where I kept my collection of torture tools I used on the enemies to break them and to get useful information from them.

After I gave up my medical studies, creating torture instruments became a kind of twisted therapy. It kept me sane. Over the time it included some rare and deadly venomous species—snakes, scorpions, and even spiders.

These tools never failed me, and they won’t fail with this bitch.

I uncovered the cages which had my favorite pets.

The moment she saw them, her eyes widened, her body trembled, her mouth almost opened to beg me something, but I ignored her.

I kept the huge toolbox on the floor, right in front of the chair, and then rolled the duct tape around her wrists and ankles to secure her firmly to the chair.

"What are you going to do?" she asked finally, her voice trembling with restrained fear.

She was not afraid of dying, but I’m sure she was scared of my pets.

"I told you, I didn’t bring you here to fuck you," I told her. "All you need to do is answer what I ask."

Her voice came again, smaller this time. "What do you want to know?"

I kept my gaze fixed on her, watching every twitch of her face, every flicker in her eyes. I would know if she lied.

"Tell me everything you know about the Dreadwyn pack," I said, my voice low and measured. "Every secret that can help us destroy them."

"I don’t know them," she answered, locking her eyes with mine. "I don’t know any of their secrets."

A blatant lie.

"Why did you sell us out to Keiren and the Dreadwyn pack?" I pressed, my voice cold, unforgiving. "What did he offer you in exchange? A promise of power? You knew he’d never make someone like you his Luna. So what was it? Did you enjoy being fucked by him enough to hand over our secrets?"

"I don’t know him," she denied again, "I didn’t betray you. I was framed."

I stepped closer, grabbed a fistful of her hair from the back, and yanked her head up so she’d look directly at me, my gaze menacing.

A pained cry escaped her lips as I leaned in, my teeth gritted. "Bitch, you sucked his cock and he fucked you like you were his favorite toy. And you dare say you don’t know him?"

Her eyes welled with tears. "I’m telling the truth," she whispered, desperate.

I released her hair and slapped her hard across the face.

I hated seeing fake tears. Women had used them for centuries to twist men around their fingers, to manipulate and control. But I was past all that. I was hoe-proofed by now.

"Your fake tears won’t work on me," I said flatly as I turned toward the toolbox. "Let’s see how long you can keep lying."

I slipped on my gloves, then reached into the box and pulled out a set of tools—pliers, long needles, and my special knife with the jagged edge.

"You’d better start talking before things get worse for you."

"I already told you the truth," she said, trembling, her voice thin.

"Fine," I muttered. "You want the hard way? You’ll get it."

I grabbed the tools in one hand and then lifted one cage with the free hand.

Inside the cage, two massive tarantulas stirred. Their hairy legs stretched wide, easily larger than the span of my palms.

Dread itched on her face the moment she saw those huge spiders moving inside the cage.

Why not, after all she had arachnophobia— fear of spiders.

And I intended to use every bit of that fear.