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He thrashes.
Oxygen doesn’t come.
Just as his pathetic noises reach their peak—when I know he’ll run out of anything left in his lungs—I stab the knife in, slicing between his lips. Blood erupts where the blade gashes open his skin, but it creates enough of an opening that he sucks in desperate gasps and slumps forward as far as his restraints will allow him.
“You know who I am?”
He nods. A gurgling sound comes out of the hole I cut in the tape, followed by a trail of reddened saliva falling into his lap.
“Good. That means we don’t have to dance around. We’re going to agree to have a nice little conversation. One where you tell me everything you know about the plot against Foxglove Noire, and in return, I might let you leave here today with at least one-half of your face.”
I’m not going to. But I like seeing that flicker of hope, right before I get to stomp it out for good.
“She’s not the true heir.” He splutters. Blood flies from his mouth.
“Then, kindly do tell us.” My knife blade fits through the hole in the tape and I saw back and forth to widen it. There’s blood running freely down his chin, and the man is sobbing as I don’t give a fuck whether I’m cutting away chunks of flesh. “Go on then, don’t go all shy now.”
He shakes his head, which only does more damage as the adhesive tears at his skin.
“They don’t tell me anything.”
“But you know something.”
Massimo winces and shrinks back in his chair as I run the knife down toward his chest. Then his lap.
“You can’t stop them. They’ll keep coming for her.”
“Who?” I sink the tip of the blade into his groin.
As the knife breaks the surface of his skin, he starts howling with pain.
“I don’t fucking know…” He chokes as I twist it and dig in harder. “None of us know. It’s whoever put the hit on Andreas.”
Tugging the knife out, I wipe the residue on his pants. “And who wanted him dead? Maybe it was you? So you could try and claim Noire House and his daughter?” My snarl echoes around the white marble surfaces.
“No. No, I promise.”
“You dared to touch her. I should really have taken your hands for that.”
“They had your sister.” He blurts out. Snarling. Trying to go down swinging. “All I know is they were the ones who had her.”
My blood turns to ice.
“What the fuck did you just say?” It’s barely a whisper that comes out of me.
“She was one of their favorites.” Massimo gulps as more red trickles and drips down his front. “I heard a rumor of plans to make her the heir years ago… before the cunt offed herself…” He’s a mask of pain and spits in my direction.
I’m losing the battle with the violent thoughts consuming everything. My sister took her own life, and maybe what he’s saying is a lie, but there’s no benefit to him in dredging up Cara’s memory.
Before I can react, a blur goes past me. Thorne is charging at the man and tackles the entire chair backward to the floor. He’s got the drill in his hand and a knee on Massimo’s chest.
“What did you call her?” Thorne presses the metal drill bit into the man’s eye socket.
“She was a worthless cunt. Just like Foxglove Noire.”
My ears are pounding, and I already know that if Thorne doesn’t do it, I’ll hack every single limb off while he’s still conscious.
“I thought that’s what you said.” There’s nothing but malice in Thorne’s voice. And as he says the words, the drill starts up. Grotesque noises of flesh and bone giving way underneath the machine are mixed with terrified screams.
