“She didn’t seem to mind my dislike of her when I squeezed her throat and had her riding my fin-.”
Rowan doesn’t get to finish his statement- his head snaps left. August’s right hook connects with no hesitation.
“You don’t ever get to disrespect her like that,” he spits, aiming to take another swing, but Thomas grabs him from behind.
Where the big fucker came from, I’m not sure. I would’ve eventually stepped in after letting August get in a couple more swings. Rowan deserves more for being a taunting dick.
“Both of you cut it the fuck out. We have a lead, so save your wrath for who deserves it and not each other,” Thomas snaps. It’s the first time I’ve seen him raise his voice at one of us.
His words stop August’s flailing. “What did you find?” August asks, glaring in Rowan’s direction, a promise of retribution before composing himself.
“We were able to locate the owner of the van company they used. He’s in a holding cell downstairs.”
“Finally! Some good fucking news,” Karl shouts, already striding for the door, stopping to throw his elbow into Rowan’s side, causing him to double over with a groan of pain.
“Next time you touch my angel without her expressed consent, I’ll cut your fingers off and fuck you with them.” Then he strolls out the door, whistling what sounds like Sir Mix-A-Lot, without looking back.
Crazy fucker.
Ignoring the hypocritical command, I try to gather more information from Thomas.
“Has he said anything?” I ask.
Thomas shakes his head before responding, “Just ‘our time will come’ repeatedly- like the guys who tried to kidnap Emma from the locker room at the school.”
I remember the guys filling me in on their extensive interrogation tactics. The thoughts inspire an idea.
A smile slowly etches my face. It’s been a long time since I was able to dabble in some fun. Jumping at the idea of getting to play a game, I shout, “I know how we should question our friend.”
KARL
I forgot how much fun it is having Sebastian around. His ideas often line up very nicely with mine.
I look at the table lined with weapons of our varied tastes. Axes, knives, guns, throwing stars, and whips lay among the assortment of options- like a buffet.
Gleeful at the prospect of what’s to come, I quirk a brow in Sebastian’s direction, “What exactly do you have in mind?” Excitement is pooling in my groin at the idea of the pain I’ll get to inflict on the piece of shit who played a role in taking Emma out from under my nose.
“Let’s vote on it, shall we? Pin the tail on the asshole, or a game of good old fashioned darts?” he asks, flipping the switch. The light at the front of the room turns on, and there’s a man tied to a solid wood board in the shape of a circle- the impalement art s.
My smile grows. “Wheel of Death?”
“Of sorts,” Sebastian replies, walking to the table of goodies. “I figured this would be an interesting way to see if we can’t get him talking and burn off a little tension. You’ve all been wound incredibly tight,” he smirks, “for obvious reasons, of course.”
“I like where this is going,” Rowan says, smiling for the first time in the last few days.
“So. What will it be, boys?” Seb asks
“I say we play darts and make a true sport of it,” I suggest.
Hums of agreement confirm our plan of action.
I walk to the man donned in only boxers strapped to the wheel. He can’t hear or see my approach, but his body is tense, sensing the predator nearby. My pulse skitters before thrumming a steady beat- anticipation of what’s to come driving my steps forward.
Reaching the front of the room, I step up the short ladder until I’m comfortably level with his ears. Carefully, I pull the noise-canceling headphones off. I shout, “Boo!” startling him before he quickly recovers, clamping his mouth shut. Not even that annoying ass chant passes his lips.
“Oh, you’re no fun,” I heckle. “No worries. You’re about to be the star of the show.” I double-swat his left cheek and climb back down the step ladder.
Once my boots hit the concrete floor, I twirl, lips quirked and arms spread wide like the Greatest Showman. “Step right up, gents. Place your bets. Our main attraction of the night is about to begin, and it’s interactive. The rules are simple. Cause him to bleed, you score a point. Cause him to yell or shout, and you score five points. Make him cry or beg, score fifteen points. Hit the bullseye, score twenty-five. And if you can make him talk? You win the pot and the game.”
Stepping up to the table, I continue, “Each round is a different weapon. We’ll start with throwing stars and end with guns.” I pause, turning, taking in the blindfolded man whose life will end here tonight. He already looks like his ride here was a bumpy one with no seatbelt. “If he lasts that long,” I snicker.
I hear a mixture of their reactions. August’s cackle and Liam’s scoff at my stupidity. Not wanting this to be too mundane, I decide to up the ante.
“I forgot to mention, to keep things interesting, you can’t bet on yourself.”My hands instinctively gravitate to the throwing knives- itching to feel the cool metal against my fingertips. I grab the matte raven-colored stars, foregoing Lola for the moment. Bringing one point to my lip, I open my mouth and test the sharpness against the tip of my tongue- perfection. If only my angel was here to christen its point with the iron of her blood.
The reminder of her absence reinvigorates my hunger for the man on the wheel’s end. The fucking audacity of this amoeba to help facilitate her being taken from us means he’ll be skull fucked by Lola before this is over.
Sebastian’s voice cuts off my thoughts, “Five thousand and the keys to my cabin in Aspen for a year. I think Rowan will get him to talk first.”
Clutching my chest in faux heartbreak. “You wound me. I thought for sure I’d be your pick.”
Chuckling, Seb replies, “I don’t doubt your skill,” he pauses, pointing to the ax in Rowan’s hand, “but I think the hardware he’s wielding will make our boy there sing. Either way, it’ll make him talk.”
Silly Seb. How quickly he forgets.
“It’s not the size of the tool. It’s how you use it.” I begin, readying the blade. “Or in my case- it’s both.” I sail the blade through the air, eyes following its progression until it lands right between our guest’s legs, under his ball sack.
A quick grunt and jerking of arms can be heard from the front of the room.
“Careful, buddy, or you’ll be nutless,” Liam jokes from his spot on the wall. His arms are crossed, studying the man- observing every tick, twitch, or hitch of breath. It’ll be him or me that makes this man talk.
“That doesn’t count,” August shouts, pausing his examination of his throwing stars.
“Just a little test run. Making sure our friend here is awake,” I reassure.
August is a joking bastard, but he’s competitive as fuck sometimes. However, this time I think it’s the combination of wanting answers and wanting retribution driving him to want to win.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.