“Who is that? Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?! I’m a detective! THAT MEANS SOMETHING.”
I bite off a laugh. “Do you assault so many women on a day-to-day basis, detective, that you can’t piece together who might have strung you up like this?”
He’s silent for long enough that I know he’s attempting to push his panic aside.
His terrified anticipation means his breathing grows ever heavier, which only amplifies his fear.
A part of me thinks of how scared Victoria must have been. Alone. Cornered. Somewhere the public foolishly assumes is “safe” with an officer of the law he’s supposed to uphold. But this man put his hands on her. His threats chased around her head, encouraging her to doubtme.
But I can’t think about that.
If I did, he’d die and he can’t.
Yet.
Instead, I focus on the preparations that have been made at my request.
Notched onto the adapted butcher’s hook up his ass, feet bound together, cock swinging in the breeze, naked as the day he was born, he dangles between two tables that are splashed with blood.
An adapted vice locks his arms in place, holding them steady—a necessary evil considering his elbows are broken.
Content with the amount of pain he’s in, I step into the circle of light.
No signs of recognition register, but he’s glassy-eyed, stuck in flight mode when we’ve made sure he can go nowhere. Perhaps it’s a touch too much to expect him to know who’ll make him pay for his misdeeds.
“Can you guess whose woman you touched, detective?”
“Please, let me go! I’ll never say anything. I’ll stay quiet. I’ll?—”
“You’ll stay quiet anyway, detective. Your position means shit to me. I havepigs oinking at me for a hundred dollars a shot like the two-buck whores you so malign. You’re nothing special?—”
“I’m a Veronian!” he shrieks.
“I doubt that,” I deride, though I’m lying.I just don’t know how a pleb like him got his in. “Why would they waste a spot in their society on a grunt like you?”
“I’m not a grunt. My father?—”
“Why would I give a fuck about who your daddy is?”
Bordeau bawls, “He was a state senator.”
“You must have been a real letdown.”
“No! I swear I’m a Veronian. I know things. People!”
“You could have the president on speed dial and I wouldn’t give a shit, Bordeau. You touched my woman. That means you’ll pay.”
“NO! I’ll help you. Please, let me help. I have intel! You’re Russian, right? One of those Forgotten Boys?”
A cackle echoes around the warehouse, reminding me that my men are watching the show.
It’s always good for them to see where they’ll end up if they betray me.
“Oh, yes, I’m one of those Forgotten Boys.”
He visibly startles then sobs in pain.
Collecting my favorite hacksaw, I sneer,“I can’t believe they were going to pair her with you, you sniveling piece of shit. Because that was their intention, right?”
