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His wrists were raw and bleeding from the rope's cruel bite, but he seemed impervious to pain, still deluding himself with thoughts
of escape.
With a swift jab, Jack landed a punishing blow to his stomach, forcing him to double over in agony, finally stilling him for a moment.
"The truth is, that grave was just a show for you. Your parents aren't dead. Erik has them locked up, tormenting them daily. He
even taunts them with photos and videos of you, calling the enemy 'Dad,' just to punish them for leaving the organization, to twist
the knife of their suffering."
Stinger couldn't believe what he was hearing, his gaze at Arabella laced with hate, doubt and belief.
Hate for her having his parents’ grave dug up.
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Doubt because she might be sowing discord.
Belief because if it was all a lie, how could she craft such a convincing story, as if she had witnessed it all herself.
"We found someone, a witness to what happened back then," Arabella glanced at her watch, "He'll be here any minute."
Stinger's eyes remained a mix of conflict and distrust.
The wait was only a few minutes, but to Stinger, it felt as long as a century.
Finally, when Jones appeared with a man in tow, all eyes snapped to the newcomer.
The man was short, barely five foot three.
He removed his mask, revealing a ghastly scar running across his face, slashing from his forehead to his left cheek, distorting his
left eye into a permanent squint, giving him an asymmetrical gaze.
Pulling off his beanie, a bald patch was visible where hair refused to grow. He told Stinger that he too once tried to leave the
organization, and as punishment, Erik's men had slashed him twice there, ensuring the hair would never return. The scar on his
face was a testament to their cruelty.
He had been loyal to Erik for years, thinking he was different, but anyone who tried to leave faced Erik's merciless vengeance.
He had been stabbed multiple times and kicked off a cliff, fortunate to land in a tree. A Good Samaritan saved him, and he spent
his days thereafter in hiding.
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"Your parents' accident, | was there," the man known as Blade recounted the sstory Arabella had told.
"Erik raising you wasn't out of pity for your youth; it was to torment your parents further, to prolong their agony. On the other
hand, he wanted more pawns to risk their lives for him. You were just one of them."
Blade produced several old photographs and tossed them to Stinger.
"These photos, | secretly took them back then for my own protection. They're all dated," he said as he flung the pictures towards
Stinger.
Arabella gave Jack a look, and he immediately stepped forward to untie the ropes binding Stinger's wrists. Stinger collapsed to the
ground, his bloodied hands trembling as he picked up the photographs with disbelief, frantically examining each one.
The photos were old and faded, not very clear, but he could still make out his parents on the boat, the day of the accident. Were
they really that badly injured, the deck slick with blood? He remembered no rain that day. But the black and white images made it
hard to tell if it was blood or rain.