The man blinks through the sweat, scowling down at her. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, lady.”
Jack lands across his other cheek with a loud, ringing snap. “Lying is rude. You know you’re never leaving this room alive, right?” She taps the blunt tip of the pink silicone right between his bloodshot eyes. “If you’re a good boy and tell me exactly what I want to know, I might be persuaded to have a little chat with the giant, terrifying guys standing behind me to release you. Because between us? They're significantly meaner than I am. Trust me, you donotwant them getting their hands on you.”
The bastard actually hesitates, but fear of whoever sent him outweighs his fear of a tiny woman with an adult toy. What he doesn’t get is that Marigold was never going to decide his fate. He hurt what’s mine. He tracked her, hurt her, made her bleed. Only I get to decide how his night ends. Everyone in this room knows it except him. And maybe Marigold. I don’t mind letting her think she’s in control a little longer.
The man lifts his bloodied chin, a smug, arrogant smirk pulling at his cracked lips. “I could tell you, bitch, but I won’t. It’s kind of fun watching you flounder.”
That’s the worst thing he could have said to Marigold. She detonates, her calm shattering in an instant. Suddenly, I get a front-row seat to the feral side of her I missed in that alley.
She beats the living hell out of him with a hot pink dildo.
It is a truly magnificent sight.
Every swing is raw power, the silicone whistling through the air before cracking against his skin. Deep purple bruises bloom across his chest and ribs.
I know without asking she’s picturing Damon’s face. But as quickly as the storm started, it drains out of her. She exhales, drops her shoulders, spits in the bastard’s face, and turns to me.
“I’m bored now. He’s not fun. We both already know exactly who sent him, so I don’t need his pathetic confirmation.”
“You might not need it, little shadow,” I murmur, stepping close. “But I sure in the hell do.” I brush damp hair from herflushed face. “You okay staying while we question him? It’s about to get messy.”
“Sure. I’ll just go stand over here in the corner with Butcher. He probably needs a friend or something to hold his hand through this.”
Pope cuts his cold eyes over to me. “You doing this execution, Tomcat, or am I?”
I say nothing, just flip my hat around and head to the metal table by the door. I sift through our tools until my hand finds my favorite blade. A wicked thing with an iridescent pearl handle and a heavy, tool-steel blade. Pope had it made for this room and the darkness that goes down here. Tool steel is built for relentless punishment. Like torturing secrets out of stubborn bastards.
Twirling the heavy knife, I stroll back to the center. The prisoner’s eyes fill with dread. Marigold didn’t scare him, but I’m a whole different nightmare.
I don’t play games. I go straight for the pain that cuts to the bone.
The blade slides through his thigh like butter. He grunts, ragged and sharp, but refuses to give me the same scream he ripped from my woman in that alley.
“All you have to do is tell us exactly who sent you,” I tell him, my voice completely flat as I casually wipe the fresh blood from the tool steel using the bottom of his own torn shirt.
We go multiple rounds of this dance. Me asking the core question, him refusing to answer, me ruthlessly stabbing him again. It’s a rhythmic, bloody routine, but his stamina is starting to cave.
“Look, man,” I say. “Damon Katzis sent you. We already know that shit. We know he’s alive, and I get it. He’s a scary motherfucker. But here’s the reality. He doesn’t have you right now.Wedo. Either way, your life ends in this room today. IfDamon gets a hold of you for failing, he’ll drag your death out for days. And as much as I want to do the exact same thing to you for putting your hands on my woman, I’m actually willing to give you the easy way out if you talk.”
“Tomcat, how do we know he won’t just tell us what we want to hear instead of the absolute truth?” Marigold asks quietly from the corner.
I look over my shoulder at her. “Because there isn’t a single woman from my past who could strike that specific kind of bone-deep terror into a grown-ass man. There is someone from yours, though.”
She purses her lips, nodding slowly as the logic clicks, and waves her small hand toward the dying man in a dismissive gesture. “I see merit in what you’re saying, lover. You may proceed.”
My lips twitch despite the gore surrounding us. “Thanks for the official permission.”
“You’re very welcome,” she replies magnanimously, tilting her chin up.
I shake my head, a dark chuckle escaping me, and turn back to finish this. He’s completely exhausted now, his skin a pale, bruised, and bloody mess, his eyes entirely dull with agony. He knows his end is staring him right in the face, so he isn’t even bothering to fight anymore.
“Damon... Damon paid me to teach her a lesson,” the man rasps, coughing up a spray of crimson. “Apparently, she wasn’t listening to his previous warnings about staying away from you. He said he was trying to be nice at first, but the only way that bitch ever listens is when she’s in physical pain.” He heavily turns his head, his bloodshot eyes tracking over to Marigold. “He said you’re his property... and if he can’t have you, then no one else on this earth ever will.”
The air turns to suffocating ice.
“Did you enjoy hitting my woman?” I ask him, my voice dropping into a register so quiet, so lethal, that even Pope tenses up behind me. The knife effortlessly twirls through my fingers. “Did it make you feel like a real man?”
The bastard smirks, bloody and defiant. I know his game. He wants to piss me off enough to end it fast.
