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Chains. Hose. Red bandana. Damascus knife.
Raphael’s expression broadcasted his thoughts before he spoke his next words. “It’s not the original, of course—Tiernan wouldn’t have left his coveted knife behind—but we have one that’s just like it.” He grabbed Willa’s chin from behind, forcing her to watch the Albanian thrashing on the chains like a fish on a hook. “It’ll do the trick. Now, cut off his fucking clothes, Lucifer.”
Men had suffered atrocious fates at my hands, but not once had I replicated what Tiernan had done to Jack. The fucking details had haunted me since the night I was beaten, bound, and gagged, useless to the man who’d taught me everything he knew. I’d been in this very warehouse as my mentor and friend was gutted by Tiernan Brennan.
I followed Raphael’s instructions because I saw no other way out. If he’d come armed with a Damascus knife, chances were that he had more in reserve. The way he held Willa wasn’t for restraint alone. If Raphael chose to, he’d have a blade to her jugular before I could reach him with my hands or a bullet—and he knew it.
“Next, I believe, was the slicing and the dicing. RAPIST—in all capitals—carved across his chest first. Then, some mutilating of the limbs ... and don’t forget—innards must be on display before the grand finale. We want this to be authentic, so the fucker has to die choking on his cock and balls—literally.”
With my gaze locked on hers, I silently implored the bravest woman I’d ever had the privilege of knowing to keep her shit together and to keep her eyes on me.
Not on my hands. Not on Zoto. Only on my mask of apathy.
I wouldn’t allow a fucking trace of emotion to surface. She could lose herself in my emptiness until Raphael’s revenge had run its fucking course.
Tears raced down Willa’s cheeks, and of all the possible silent messages she could have conveyed, it was an apology, an understanding of our mutual grief and horror, that was reflected at me.
The suspicions I’d prayed were false were now confirmed—Willa knew the details of her father’s murder.
Her nostrils flared with each breath. She was nauseous and on the brink of emotional collapse, but she hung in there, and fuck if I wasn’t proud of her.
I followed Raphael’s instructions to the fucking T until Tariq Zoto’s body hung gutted like a cow at the slaughterhouse.
Keegan and Liam were assisting me in unchaining the corpse when the scuffle broke out.
“Don’t you fucking touch me.” Willa snapped, spinning away from Raphael as he tried to cover her with the mink coat.
“Willa,” he growled in warning, stepping closer.
I saw the ill-fated attack coming before she struck, nearly nailing Raphael with a jab to the fucking throat. But his reflexes were as sharp as my own. He dropped the coat and snatched Willa by the neck before she could make contact.
She gasped and clawed at his wrist. My right hand flexed, moving for my Glock, but Keegan intercepted my forearm in an ironclad grip.
“Give it a sec ... ,” he advised, his tone calm and steady.
Raphael leaned into Willa’s face, snarling. “I could fucking kill you right now and no one would dare to stop me.”
Willa smiled. She fucking smiled like a masochist with a death wish and my heart stopped beating.
“Do it!” she screamed with a strangled voice. “Do it, Raphael! Kill me! Snap my neck! We both know you’re capable! We both know—”
“Enough!”
Raphael’s frame shook, his face a fusion of emotions I didn’t recognize. Then he leaned in closer and whispered something in Willa’s ear that subdued every ounce of fight she had in her. Her body slackened. The way his punishing hold tightened told me he expected her to further acquiesce. She finally nodded, and he loosened his grip.
Willa stepped back, rubbing her throat and taking in deep gulps of air. “I’d like to leave now—and for someone other than you to drive me home.”
Raphael raked his gaze over the room, considering his options. “Liam—you’re taking me to Providence. You two—” Raphael waved a hand at Grifin and one of the young foot soldiers. “Take care of Zoto. Keegan—if you’re done being the Watson to my brother’s Holmes, I trust you’ll get my fiancée home in one piece.”
Grifin kicked the Albanian soldier. “What ’bout this one, Boss? Looks like he’s choking on his own puke.”
“Two in the chest and one in the head. He’ll consider it a favor. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” Raphael shrugged on his peacoat.
His question was rhetorical; he’d landed his dagger.
Leaving her coat and the rest of us behind, Willa stormed from the warehouse and out into the night.
