Reborn Heiress Is Remarrying
Chapter 43: A Lesson In Pain

Chapter 43: A Lesson In Pain

Chapter 43: A Lesson In Pain

The warehouse was cold, damp, wet, and smelled of blood and gasoline.

Low lights formed shadows along the rusted metal walls, making the place feel more like a tomb than a building.

At the center of it all sat the man Gabriel had been waiting for.

Bound to a metal chair, the shooter’s head lolled forward, blood dripped from his split lip onto his dirt-streaked shirt.

His wrists were tied behind him with thick rope, the fibers already cutting into his skin from his earlier struggles.

Gabriel stood in front of him, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp black shirt, his face was calm—too calm.

The kind of calm that came before a storm.

In his right hand, he held a scalpel.

A small instrument.

Sharp enough to cut anything for a surgeon.

Gabriel turned it between his fingers, the blade shone a little under the light.

Then, he crouched down, moving his head as he observed the man before him.

"You don’t look so good."

The shooter lifted his head slightly, eyes bloodshot, but still refusing to give Gabriel answers.

"Go to hell," he spat.

Gabriel smirked. "I’ve been there. Turns out, I prefer the view from above."

He reached out, grabbing the man’s chin with his free hand, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Now, let’s get to the important part."

He lifted the scalpel between them, letting the tip glide just under the shooter’s jaw, applying just enough pressure to make him feel it.

"Who sent you?"

The shooter let out a breathless chuckle.

"You think I’m gonna tell you just because you’ve got a fancy knife?"

Gabriel hummed, shaking his head. "No. But you will tell me."

The shooter grinned, teeth coated in blood. "And why’s that?"

Gabriel sighed, tapping the blade lightly against the man’s cheek.

"Because I have time. And you? You have... well, considerably less."

Without another word, Gabriel pressed the scalpel into the soft skin just below the man’s ear.

"Aaaaagh!"

Then the shooter sucked in a sharp breath as blood welled up from the small cut, trickling down his neck.

Gabriel watched him carefully. "Still feeling brave?"

The man clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.

Gabriel smiled.

He loved the ones who thought they could endure.

They always fell the hardest.

He trailed the scalpel down, moving it just over the man’s collarbone.

"You know, I’m a surgeon," he mused. "I know exactly where to cut to keep you alive... but I also know exactly where to cut to make sure you wish you weren’t."

The shooter remained silent.

Gabriel pressed the blade deeper, slicing a thin line down his shoulder.

"Ggghhhrrrr!" The man groaned, his muscles tensed, but he still didn’t break.

Gabriel sighed. "Fine. If we’re going to do this the hard way..."

He stood up, walking over to a small metal tray full of different tools.

He set the scalpel down and picked up a pair of surgical forceps, turning back to his captive.

The shooter swallowed thickly.

Gabriel smirked. ’Ah. Now he’s nervous.’

He grabbed the man’s hand, forcing his fingers open.

"Did you know," he said conversationally, "that the spaces between your fingers are some of the most sensitive parts of the human body?"

The shooter’s eyes widened.

Gabriel didn’t give him time to react.

He pressed the cold metal forceps between the man’s fingers and twisted.

"Fuck! Aaaaaagh! Fuck!!! Son of a bitch!" The shooter screamed.

Gabriel watched with a smile on his face as the man writhed against his restraints, his face was full of pain.

"I’ll ask again." Gabriel’s voice was calmer, patient. "Who sent you?"

The shooter panted, sweat dripped down his brow.

Silence.

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. "Wrong answer."

He twisted the forceps again.

Another scream.

"Aaaaagh!! You bitch! Bastard! I will kill you! Will kill you all!"

Gabriel leaned in, "You see, I don’t just want a name. I want details. Who gave the order? Why? And what exactly were you supposed to do to Diane?"

At the mention of her name, the shooter’s eyebrows moved a little.

Gabriel caught it.

His lips curled. ’There it is.’

"I wasn’t supposed to kill her," the man gasped, his voice was so raw from pain. "Just scare her."

Gabriel’s smirk faded.

’Scare her?’

’That was what they had planned?’

His grip on the forceps tightened. "Who sent you?"

The shooter clenched his jaw but finally muttered, "Rachel Hoffman."

Gabriel paused immediately.

Then, slowly, he exhaled. "Rachel."

Diane’s stepmother.

A woman with too much greed and not enough intelligence.

Gabriel’s fingers twitched.

She had sent a man to frighten Diane?

To make her feel unsafe?

To put her in a position where she would have to runback to that pathetic excuse of a family?

Gabriel let go of the forceps, stepping back.

The shooter let out a shuddering breath, thinking—hoping—that the worst was over.

Gabriel grabbed his scalpel again.

And without hesitation, he pressed it against the shooter’s thigh.

The man screamed as the blade sunk into his skin, carving deep.

Gabriel watched coldly.

"She thought she could threaten my wife?" His voice was like a low growl. "That she could control her with fear?"

Another slice.

"Aaaaagh!"

More screaming.

Gabriel grabbed the man’s face, forcing him to look at him.

"Tell me exactly what Rachel wanted from this."

The shooter sobbed through the pain.

"S-she wanted Diane to come back to them! Said she needed to be—ahhh—controlled! That she was... that she was getting too close to you!"

Gabriel’s smirk returned. "Too close?"

He let go, stepping back and watching as the man slumped against the chair, shaking violently.

Gabriel wiped the blood from his scalpel with a handkerchief, sighing.

"Well, then."

He turned toward one of his guards, who had been standing silently by the door, waiting for orders.

"Take care of this mess," Gabriel said dismissively.

The guard nodded.

Gabriel glanced back at the shooter one last time. "Tell me, do you believe in karma?"

The man whimpered, his breath was so shallow.

Gabriel smirked. "Because Rachel’s about to find out what it really means."

Without another word, he stepped out of the warehouse.