I stare at him, and the smirk slips off my face. Instead of seeing the warning signs, he grins as if he had won.
“That’s what I thought.”
Turning the end on, he stabs it into the center of my chest. My entire body tightens up, pain radiating out as electricity surges over me. Hot, fluid, I grunt against the suffering and hold on.
FuckingChrist, my teeth chatter as everything shakes. I have no choice but to retreat, let the agony wash over me, and fucking brace for more.
Finally, he pulls it away, grinning at me with glee.
“You know,” he recalls, “I hope this setup is familiar. I took some tips from Renaud.” The name slithers over my shoulders, a hissing snake that’s looking to strike. “You visited them last, isn’t that right? Right before Ferguson died?”
Panting, I roll my shoulders back. Copper floods my mouth. “We’re friendly.”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Friendly. Does Maeve know you almost sacrificed your life just to keep her free?” He swings the prong around, and I tense—waiting to see what he does next. “That you went into that hole for her?”
The hole.A black pit in the ground, Renaud threw me in there when he discovered I was plotting to kill him. We had an uneasy alliance—I sold my skills to keep him away from Maeve’s marriage contract—but we never trusted the other. When I learned he was still entertaining the idea of signing the agreement, I reacted.
I gotso closeto killing the head of the New Orleans clan, but I didn’t anticipate how big the family was, or where the guards were hidden. The old fucking asshole had changed his security measures. I was overwhelmed, taken, and thrown into a darkness so bleak, I was left there with only my thoughts.
Not as terrible as one would think. I carry no guilt for my crimes, but I was tormented by knowing Maeve was alone, and I couldn’t reach her. If not for Renaud’s heir, I’d still be there, rotting away in the soaked bayou dirt, praying for an end.
The fact that Doyle knew this…
“You had me followed.”
Doyle smiles widely. “We got word of the random deaths all over the states, all clan members or allies. The common thread was your and Ferguson’s agreements.” He taps his nose. “You were sloppy, Reaper. All for awoman.”
I bide my rage, a demonic entity that rises fresh from Hell, and chuckle. It’s low, a haunting sound, curling around the room like smoke, and his hackles rise.
“What’s so funny?”
Shaking my head, I rest my head against my arm.
“Oh, nothing.” My smirk grows along with his nervousness. It’s an aphrodisiac. “Just imagining your heart in my hand. Do you think it’d be as pretty as I do?” My smirk slips away, gone like a cloud. “Don’t worry, we’ll see soon enough.”
He lifts the saw and lashes out. The strikes are harsh, wicked, as he cuts into my leg, my arm, and the sensitive skin under my collarbone. He’s not thinking as he attacks. His emotions are overruling his head—another mistake when torturing.
I hold firm, withstanding the hits. That’s all I can do until I find my opening.
When he pulls back, I’m still standing, covered in a dozen superficial cuts, all rapidly bleeding. It won’t kill me, but I’m fucking sore. Escaping won’t be impossible, but I’ll be slow.
“C’mon, Doyle,” I taunt. “This is a bit anticlimactic. You, spilling all your devious deeds to me in an abandoned warehouse. At least give me something interesting before you kill me.”
“Something interesting?” he spits, grabbing my face. Sweating through his shirt, his fingers tremble with exhaustion. Torture isn’t for the weak. It takes a lot of reserve and strength to cut into a human body and remain upright.
Maeve could do it. Because she’s stronger than all of us.
“Once I kill you, I’m going to give your precious captain to Bruno,” he teases. My vision slowly morphs red, his words sinking deep. “He’s wanted to break her for years. And I’m going to let him do it—right after I break Sloane. Maybe I’ll even break Collins when I’m done. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I wrap my hand in the chains, absorbing the coolness. It fights the burn in my skin—my wrath that will explode. I tug it again, ready to pull. With the right height, I can twist his neck with my legs and escape once he’s dead.
It’s not perfect. I’d rather take my time with him, make him regret coming after my girl—my family—but beggars can’t bechoosers. Maybe the devil will let me get a second chance when I go to Hell?
A glint of metal flashes in the darkness behind him. Blinking, I’m struck by the small pale hand that appears, and the wicked pearl-inlaid blade that cuts into Doyle’s neck.
It’s a superficial cut, enough to knock him down. Falling, he gurgles, clutching his neck. And Maeve—the fucking dark goddess that she is—stands over him in a pair of bloody jeans and a leather jacket. She’s still in the same clothes I left her in—has she slept, eaten since then?
The saw clatters to the ground, and I jump aside, the teeth skidding across my leg. I’ll have a scratch, but it’s better than dying.
