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Miller’s expression closed up when his hope to be released disappeared. “I don’t know.”
Shade came around to stand in front of Miller. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at the motherfucker. “You fuckin’ know.”
Miller shrugged as much as his restraints allowed. “Even if I did, it’s too late.”
Shade frowned. “Why?”
Miller pressed his lips together.
In return, Shade pressed the tip of his blade to the hollow of Miller’s throat. “Why?”
“There’s an agent who buys women...”
“What kinda agent?”
“He buys them for a filmmaker.”
“Porn?” If so, he could still find her and get her son back to her. Reunite them. Save her from that life. Save them both.
Again, Miller didn’t answer. Fuck him, he didn’t have a choice.
Shade rounded the chair again, fisting the Bowie knife, and this time, when he stopped behind Miller, he drew the sharp tip of the blade along the top of the man’s back in the shape of a large rectangle. Not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to score lines no deeper than a scratch.
“What are you doing?” Miller asked in a panic, the flesh on his back quivering.
He should be scared.
“What kind of fuckin’ film?” Shade asked. “You don’t answer, gonna flay pieces of flesh from your body ‘til you do.”
Miller shuddered. “Then you won’t get the boy.”
The asshole thought he had the power to negotiate. He didn’t. “I’ll get the boy.”
“Let me go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Like who bought my mother?”
“I don’t know who bought your mother!” Miller exploded. “That was over twenty-five years ago. I don’t keep fucking records! I have no fucking clue what happened to her.”
Shade drew the rectangle again on the man’s back, following the same lines, this time putting more pressure to it. Blood began to well in the slices.
“Jesus Christ!” Miller screamed, wriggling in the chair as much as he could. It wasn’t much because Shade had him tied down as securely as he could. He hadn’t left much wiggle room for the fucker.
Shade started at one corner of the rectangle, used the tip of his knife to work the corner of skin up and began to saw the layer of flesh away from the muscle underneath.
“Holy fuck! I don’t know!” Miller screamed. “I swear I don’t know who bought your mother. If I knew, I’d tell you. Just don’t... Don’t cut me anymore!”
Shade paused. He believed him. He’d need to find his mother himself. But now she wasn’t the only mother he’d need to find. “What kind of filmmaker bought the boy’s mother?”
When Miller was slow in answering, Shade pulled up the flap of flesh again and began to saw more away from his body.
“Stop!” Miller shrieked. “Just stop. I’ll tell you...” His head flopped forward and he panted loudly. “I’ll tell you. Just... Just... stop. Please...”
“Ain’t heard the answer yet,” Shade warned and yanked on the loose corner of flesh.
“I... Fuck! The kind she doesn’t recover from.”
Shade let the slippery chunk of bloody flesh slide from his fingers. “What the fuck does that mean?”
When he took out the trash, he normally did it in a calm manner and felt nothing. Numb. Dead inside. The same way he’d felt for many years of his youth. He would draw inward to deal with what was happening around him, to him. But what Miller just said made his heart thump. And if his heart was beating, he wasn’t dead inside. He was very much alive.
What Miller revealed also made him remember bits and pieces of discussions Julian heard whenever he was sold or traded back to a broker. Discussions, and even jokes, about what happened to the women who weren’t “pretty enough” or had become drug addicts. Or the kids who got too old or were considered untrainable.
Jesus Christ. Shade struggled to pull in his next breath.
A fucking snuff film.
The world was full of sick motherfuckers. Sick, sick motherfuckers. Both the people making snuff films and the people who jerked off to them. Goddamn sick.
“You sold her to that agent?”
“He was the highest bidder.”
“What was his name?”
“They don’t use their real name. Every time they show up, they use a different one to stay anonymous.”
“How do the winnin’ bidders pay?”
“Cash. It’s all in cash. Occasionally in gold. There’s never any paperwork. No traceable payments, no receipts, no real names. It’s cash and carry.”
Cash and carry.
For a human life.
“My mother. Was she sold to a filmmaker, too?”
“I told you, I don’t remember who bought your mother. How stupid are you?”
How stupid are you?
Do you have brain damage?
Are you retarded?
Your mother must’ve taken drugs when she was pregnant with you.
He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
No. Not now.
He ignored the oozing flap of skin hanging from Miller’s back, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked the man’s head back until it couldn’t go any further, then he pulled some more until the broker’s throat was stretched tight. Instead of his throat, Shade placed the blade along the man’s receding hairline. “How ‘bout I scalp you instead?”
