Screams echoed off of the stone walls, and Clary squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the scene in front of her. Jonathan had brought her into his basement-turned-torture-chamber to teach her "the family business." He was trying to get information about a drug shipment from a competitor, and he wanted to show her how to persuade people into sharing. This was the third time he had brought her down here, and each time seemed to be worse than the last.
Currently, there was a light haired boy tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room. He looked barely over 18, and Clary had feeling he was just a kid who got hung up in the wrong stuff. His blue eyes were blood shot and tears ran freely down his bruised and cut cheeks. Clary heard the sound of Raphael's brass knuckles connecting with bone, and she flinched. Another blood curdling scream rang out through the room.
"Clarissa," Jonathan said, his demanding voice causing her to open her eyes. He was staring at her, malice swimming in his dark eyes and a small smile playing on his lips. In his hand was some sort of blade. He pushed the handle in her direction. "We're about to start removing fingers, and it's time you joined in."
Clary stared back at him, her eyes wide. "What? No way in hell."
The smile fell from his face and his jaw clenched. "Clarissa, you are a Morgenstern. Now take this knife and act like it."
She shook her head. "No. I don't want to do that."
He let out a growl. "Goddammit, Clarissa! If you're not going to do it willingly, then I am going to have to force you."
Before she could react, he grabbed her right hand and shoved the handle into it. He then wrapped his hand around hers, forcing her to hold on to it. He started to pull her toward the boy in the chair, and she tried to break free. He tightened his grip on her and continued to drag her along.
They stopped in front of the boy, who looked up at them through swollen eyes. Jonathan pulled her knife-wielding hand forward, holding it just over the boy's right index finger.
"I'm going to give you one more chance. Where is the shipment coming in at?" Jonathan asked, his voice dangerously low.
"I don't know! I told you I don't know!" the boy cried out, his voice shaking.
Jonathan tsked. "Not the answer I wanted."
He pushed Clary's hand down, and vile rose in her throat as she felt the resistance of skin, muscle, and bone. The boy screamed and Clary felt tears gather in her own eyes. She looked at the finger that now lay on the cement floor and had to swallow the vomit that was now at the back of her mouth. She had just hurt an innocent boy. She had just literally cut somebody's finger off. She didn't even know that was something that happened in real life and not just in bad mafia movies.
Jonathan let go of her hand and smiled at her. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"
The hint of pride in is voice caused anger to course through her. He had made her do that. He had made her hurt someone. She had sworn she would never hurt another human being. She had sworn she wouldn't end up like her father. He had ruined that for her, and he was proud of it.
Clary glanced at the bloodied knife that was still in her hand. Without a second thought, she lunged at Jonathan. He tried to move out of the way, but she still managed to sink the blade into his upper left arm. He cried out, a string of expletives pouring from his mouth as he stared in disbelief at the knife protruding from his arm.
"Do something!" he shouted frantically to Raphael.
Clary felt the familiar sting of a needle, and the world around her began to swirl.
A splash of freezing cold water on her face pulled her into consciousness. Her eyes flew open to reveal Jonathan standing in front of her, a terrifying grin on his face. "Rise and shine, little sister," he sang.
Clary realized she was still in the basement. However, this time, she was the one in the chair. Her wrists were ziptied to the wooden arms and her ankles were ziptied to the legs. Panic started to bubble inside of her.
"I've got to admit, Clarissa, you sure do have some moxie." He was now pacing slowly in front of her, twirling a knife between his fingers. The same knife she had stabbed him with. "Too bad you have yet to learn to use it properly. I can help you, though. You've been fighting against your destiny. You're a Morgenstern. You need to finally admit it."
"I am not a Morgenstern," she hissed. "I am a Fray. I refuse to share a name with you and that dickhead you call a father."
His hand cracked across her face and head was tossed to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "I already have very little patience for you, Clarissa. I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say you're a Morgenstern."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Never," she stated, spitting the blood in her mouth at Jonathan's feet. She didn't want anything to with that last name. That name had ruined so much for her. It had dictated her life. She constantly lived in fear of someone finding out her secret. She apparently had good reason to. Just look at what had happened when people found out. Sebastian had reacted in a physically violent way and Jace began to hate her. She might have been born with that last name, but she would never call herself a Morgenstern willingly.
Jonathan moved quickly, plunging the blade of the knife into Clary's right thigh. He leaned his face in, stopping just centimeters from hers, his hand still wrapped around the handle of the knife. "Wrong. Answer."
She stared at the knife in her leg. "You're fucking crazy!" she yelled as the pain suddenly started to hit her.
Jonathan let out a dark laugh. "I might be crazy, but I'm all you have left. Raphael's been doing a great job at relaying information from the precinct to me. They all think you turned on them. They're looking for you, Clarissa, and it 's not to save you. You and I are on the same side now."
"I will never be on the same side as you," she forced out between gritted teeth.
Jonathan pushed the knife in deeper, stopping only when the hilt hit her thigh. His smile grew as she screamed out in pain. Her vision started to blacken around the edges.
"I'm giving you one more chance, Clarissa. Say it."
She took a deep breath and stared him straight in the eyes. "Fuck you, Jonathan. You can go to hell. Say hi to father dearest for me while you're there."
His eyes hardened, and his smile turned into a sneer. "I am going to break you one day, dear sister. Just wait."
He tightened his grip on the knife and twisted the blade in her leg. Clary's scream died on her lips as everything went black.
When she felt herself approaching consciousness, Clary did everything to try to stop it. She was afraid of what she would find once she woke up. She didn't want to still be tied up in the basement, left to Jonathan and his twisted means of persuasion.
As she became fully conscious, she felt a little less scared. She could tell she wasn't still tied to that wooden chair. She felt like she was in a bed, but not one as comfortable as the one she had been sleeping in ever since Raphael had delivered her to her brother.
She slowly opened her eyes. Her guess had been right; she was in a bed. But she was in a room completely different from the one she had woken up in that first day. This room was smaller. A lot smaller. It was also bare. The only thing in it was the twin sized bed she was currently on. Everything around her was white. The walls. The carpet, The bedding. The nightgown she was dressed in. There wasn't even a single window in the room.
Her eyes landed on the door in the far corner. She threw the blankets off, and moved to get up. The second she stood, she fell to the floor, an excruciating pain shooting through her right leg. She looked at the spot where Jonathan had stabbed her, pleasantly surprised to see that someone had at least bandaged her wound.
She rolled onto her stomach and began to army crawl to the door, trying her best to keep her wounded thigh from touching the carpet. It was a difficult and impossible task, but it hurt less than it did when she had tried to stand.
When she finally reached the door, she stretched to try the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. She let out a frustrated groan before getting herself into a sitting position against the door.
"What the fuck are you doing, Jonathan?" she asked out loud.
She was startled to hear Jonathan's voice fill the room through some invisible intercom system. "I told you I was going to break you, Clarissa." He laughed for a few seconds before the room was returned to silence.