The wound seals instantly. No blood. Just ruined flesh.
Grant sobs. His whole body shaking as his brain tries to process pain it can't escape.
“I’m not starting slow,” I tell him. “I don’t reward fuckers like you with patience.”
I set the knife down carefully and lean in close enough that he has to look at me.
“You’re going to live through this. Every part of it.”
Grant’s eyes are wild now.
I straighten and step back, already cataloging what comes next. What can be taken. What can be damaged without killing him. How long the human body can be kept on the edge before it breaks completely.
I have waited a long time for this.
Grant watches me like this is still a contest, like he is waiting for his turn to speak because he assumes he is going to get one. Blood runs from his mouth and down his chin, but his lips still try to pull into something smug when I stop moving and just look at him.
He coughs, and it turns wet halfway through.
“Your… father…” he manages, dragging in a breath that doesn’t come easy. “Always thought you were weak.”
I step closer.
He swallows, throat working through it, chest hitching. “He thought Luke had potential,” he forces out. “If his mother hadn’t… fucked him up before he was even born. Drugs will do that. Ruins the wiring.”
I don’t speak.
Grant takes that silence and runs with it, even though it costs him.
“He told us you were a liability,” his voice breaking under the strain. “Said if it came down to it… he’d choose Luke.”
He lets out something that tries to be a laugh and fails, turning into another cough.
“Funny… how that worked out.”
I stop directly in front of him.
“I heard about the babysitter,” Grant says, quieter now, each word pulled up through pain. “Natalie. That was her name, right?” He pauses, sucking in air. “Richard didn’t even bother moving the body. Just left her down there… with you.”
His eyes drag over my face, hunting for a reaction.
“You cried for days,” he adds, voice rough and uneven. “Locked you down there with her. That was when he knew… you were weak. Like your mother.”
A broken sound slips out of him, something close to a laugh.
“It felt good… putting a bullet in her head.”
My hands curl into fists.
“And Brooke’s father,” Grant goes on, slower now, words starting to slur at the edges. “He really thought they could take down The Collective.” He coughs again, blood spilling from his lips. “There is no leaving. There never was.”
His eyes sharpen for a second, fighting to stay focused.
“Her dad begged. Her mom screamed.” He drags in another breath. “They were lucky… we didn’t find little Brooke that night.”
He leans forward as much as the restraints allow, even though his body shakes with it.
“If we had…Richard and I would’ve taken our time with her.” His mouth twitches. “Wouldn’t that be ironic… if your father broke in your girl before you got to her? He liked breaking pretty little things… like her.”
