Awakened Behind Bars: The Golden Finger

Chapter 4: Let's teach this man a lesson

“Right now, her name is in the mud. And marriage is the only way to fix things.”

“What?” Desmond's jaw dropped. Marry?

Cherry’s head snapped toward him, her eyes widening in horror. “What? Dad, no—” she blurted out.

Victor shot her a sharp look. “Silence.”

Cherry froze, her face pale, lips trembling with rage.

Desmond shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Sir, you can’t be serious. Marriage isn’t something you force on people. I don’t even know your daughter—”

“That is irrelevant,” Victor cut him off. “You slept with her. That is all the world needs to hear.”

“I didn’t force her!” Desmond yelled desperately. “And still, this isn’t right. I don’t have money. I don’t have status. I don’t belong in your world.”

Victor smiled faintly, a smile without warmth. “Exactly. Which is why you should be grateful.”

Grateful?

“You get to marry into the Vixen family,” Victor continued. “Your life will no longer be meaningless. And in return, my daughter’s reputation will be restored.”

Cherry clenched her fists. “Dad, I’d rather die than marry someone like him!”

Victor didn’t even look at her. “You will do as you’re told.”

Desmond's heart was racing so much it felt like it wanted to jump out of his chest. “Sir,” he said quietly, “this will ruin both our lives.”

Victor leaned forward slightly. “No, Desmond,” he said. “It will only ruin yours if you refuse. Listen carefully,” he said coldly. “You will marry my daughter. That is final.”

Then his eyes swept over Desmond and he sighed. “You look disgusting, if I must say. Your presence alone has made this entire mansion reek.” He waved a hand dismissively. “To make yourself at least presentable, I’ll give you some money so you can change those pathetic clothes. Even if you’re broke on the inside, you should at least look decent on the outside.”

Then he leaned back slightly. “I’ll have someone take you shopping.” His lips curled. “Now get out. For now.”

Desmond’s fists clenched at his sides, his teeth grinding together. Yes, they were rich. Yes, he was a nobody. Yes, they lived in mansions while he had slept under leaking roofs. Yes, they spent thousands in a day while he barely spent $5. Yes, they had a name in the city while no one knew his. Yes, they had a family while he had no one left.

But none of that gave them the right to toy with his life. Marriage wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a transaction. And no one had the right to force it on him. His mother’s voice echoed in his head. ‘Stand up for yourself. Respect everyone but never let anyone trample you.’

Desmond straightened his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly. Then he lifted his head. “Or maybe I’m not. But I cannot marry your daughter. Getting married against my will is wrong. I have no desire to.”

The room went deathly silent. Victor rose to his feet so suddenly that the chair almost fell backwards. “How dare you!” he roared. “You imbecile.”

He turned sharply. “Sean! Shambu!”

The two men who had escorted Desmond in hurried back into the room.

“Get the whip,” Victor ordered, his voice shaking with rage. “Both of you. Let’s teach this man a lesson.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied immediately and rushed away.

Victor then turned to a maid standing stiffly in the corner. “Zoe.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, trembling.

“Get boiling water. Quickly.”

“Yes, sir.” She hurried off.

Moments later, Sean and Shambu returned, holding thick, coiled whips in their hands. Victor smiled slowly.

He gestured, and two more men stepped forward, grabbing Desmond from behind.

“You dare talk back to me,” Victor said calmly in slight amusement. “You have quite the guts for someone of your caliber. Even people with a little wealth don’t speak to me like that. And yet here you are.”

His eyes darkened. “Your guts might be the end of you.”

He waved a hand. “Hold him down. Twenty lashes. On his back. Now.”

Desmond’s eyes widened in terror as the whip was raised. It was thick, like the kind used to flog horses.

The men forced him to the ground, pressing his face against the cold marble floor. He struggled, but their weight was overwhelming. His shirt was ripped off roughly, fabric tearing as his back was exposed to the cool air.

His breath came out in ragged gasps.

He tried to speak but his mouth was crushed against the floor. A metallic taste filled his mouth. Blood. Tears burned his eyes as fear flooded his chest.

And above him, the whip rose.

The next thing Desmond heard was a very loud whip, and pain shot through his entire body. It felt like hot knives had been sliced across his back and then poured over with hot water. His legs trembled, just one strike made him feel as though he was going to black out. Was he really going to sustain nineteen more of these?

The whip came down again. Desmond screamed in agony, the sound echoing throughout the mansion. Some of the onlookers had to cover their eyes at the sight. Cherry clenched her teeth, her expression cold and devoid of any emotion.

By the fifth lash, Desmond felt as though he was going to pass out. Blood spilled out of his mouth, and he groaned against the floor, struggling to breathe. He looked up to see Mr. Victor sitting casually in his chair, clearly enjoying the display.

Was this how he was going to die?

He remembered the promises he had made to his mother, that he would live for her and his little sister, even though they were gone. And now he faced death just one day after losing them. He couldn’t let it end this way.

The whip struck again. Desmond could no longer scream, his voice had been crushed by pain. He tried to move, but his hands and legs were pinned firmly to the floor. Then, during the seventh strike, he somehow managed to lift his hands slightly, signaling them to stop.

Mr. Victor smirked. “Very gutsy,” he said, and motioned for the men to pause.

Desmond groaned as they released him. Blood coated his mouth, and his chest heaved.

“Do you want to say something, Knight?” Mr. Vixen asked, standing and stepping on Damien’s hand. Pain shot up Damien’s arm and he screamed. “Tell me now. What do you want to say?”

Coughing violently, more blood spilling from his mouth, Damien’s voice trembled. “Please… please just let me go…”

Mr. Victor’s gaze darkened. “I guess that torture wasn’t enough.”

He called to the maid, who was now holding the boiling water. “Zoe, put it on the ground.” Then, without looking away from Damien, he addressed one of his men. “Put his hand in the boiling water.”

Damien’s eyes widened in horror as the maid obediently placed the steaming pot before him. Mr. Victor continued, his voice cold. “Once his hand is burned enough, give him the remaining thirteen lashes.”

Desmond trembled violently as he saw the water steaming. It was boiling hot. If they put his hand in that for even a few seconds, his skin would definitely peel. “Please… please…” he begged, his voice breaking.

“I… I’ll get married to her!” he finally shouted.