Whoever had been unlucky enough to be caught in this contraption knew they would never get out.
Not alive, anyway.
For there was no way to escape once ensnared. The bindings prohibited movement of any kind. The cuffs and collar had a locking mechanism that no one could break; without a key, they would never open. They could even be tightened to the point it cut off the victim’s circulation. In short, I would have complete and total control over this man’s life—forcing him to face his mortality when he had wanted to run.
Jasper and I both bent down, groaning as we picked the man up and carried him the rest of the way. We quickly adjusted the straps, ensuring they fit snugly against his skin.
My grandfather’s antique apothecary cabinet sat at the back of the cell, filled to the brim with various poisons and torture devices. Blades of varying size were hung neatly in a row along the wall. Some were serrated, and some came to a fine point. There were cleavers and machetes and axes. One of my personal favorites was a military-grade bifurcated blade which was designed to result in fatal bleed-out.
Hell, I even saw a potato peeler.
“Search him,” I ordered, making my way toward the table to examine every instrument of torture at the ready. Their metal glinted under the harsh light, promising the most delicious pain. Later, I thought with a smile on my face. Later I would make him fucking scream, even if for no other reason than I could. He had threatened not only my life but the lives of others around me. If I let him live, he would crawl back to whoever held his leash like the dog he was.
I refused to show him mercy.
I reached for a small drawer labeled ‘smelling salts,’ grabbing a pre-measured pouch before returning to my friend. Jasper began patting the man down, feeling inside every pocket and coming up empty. Perhaps we would not get so lucky?—
“Aha!” Jasper said, pulling a crumpled envelope from inside the man’s bulletproof vest. He pulled it open, scanning the contents quickly. His face fell with each line. “Fuck,” he cursed.
He handed the document over without me asking. Jasper turned, his forehead wrinkled as he lost himself in thought.
I reached inside, pulling the contents from their creased pouch. The name Claude was stamped across the front. Black and white photographs of Jasper, Rowena, and I were the first thing I saw, noticing our personal details listed on the back in what looked like my mother’s barely legible scrawl. He had everything—names, birthdays, phone numbers, and addresses we frequented.
I braced my hand on the wall to steady myself.No, no, no, no…
Sloane plucked the contents from my grasp, scanning it quickly before she let out a low laugh. “That fucking bitch.”
Something inside me snapped, an invisible tether I was unaware of. I reared on her, grasping her throat and squeezing. “Is there something funny about this?” I asked, ripping the paper from her hands. I could no longer think straight. The rage I felt was far too potent.
“Rion—” Jasper moved toward me, stopping only as he took in the silver of my eyes.
To her credit, Sloane did not balk. She stood still as my hand remained against her throat, though the frantic fluttering of her pulse beneath my grip gave away her fear. “No,” she gasped.
Somehow I knew, in my fucking bones. I knew who had orchestrated the hit.
Sloane placed her hand atop my own, not to pry open my grip but to offer a steady, calming presence. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, though I knew she had no reason to.
If Calia could see me now, she would be ashamed.
I quickly let go, running my hands through my hair.What the fuck was I doing?
Grabbing the salts, I peeled the plastic off the top, waving it under the man’s nose. Yet, he did not move. Which was difficult to believe—the smell of ammonia was so potent that even my eyes were watering.
“Wake up,” I muttered, aware of how Sloane and Jasper watched me. “Fucking wake up.” I turned to my friend. “Did you kill him?”
“No! I mean, I know I kicked him, but it wasn’t that hard. Besides, he’s breathing.” He reached over and placed his fingers along the man’s pulse point. His shoulders slumped imperceptibly before stepping back. “Yup, there’s a pulse.”
“Gods above,” Sloane said, pushing past us. I tried to ignore the handprint along her throat. “Do I have to do everything around here?”
“I don’t remember you doing the heavy lifting, Sloane. You were all too happy to let us carry the load,” Jasper snapped back.
Her only response was to lift her middle finger toward him before slapping the unconscious man across the face. She waited only a minute before repeating the action four more times. Slowly, his eyelids began to flutter. “Wakey, wakey,” she cooed, continuing her assault until his eyes shot wide open, and he began to scream.
“He sure is a loud one,” Jasper mused, tilting his head.
“That is putting it mildly,” I replied, watching the man as he began hyperventilating.
“Shit, his heart may give out before we have a chance to question him.” Jasper stepped forward, but Sloane blocked hispath as she clasped her hand over the man’s open mouth, blocking the sound of his cries.
