And then he repeats the motion on the left hand.
“I guess it doesn’t matter which hand you use. No more jacking off for you.”
“Man, that sucks.” I shake my head as if I feel sympathy for this moron. “So, why don’t you save the rest of your body and tell us where Lincoln lives?”
“No.”
I lift an eyebrow. Up until now, he’s insisted that he doesn’t know who Lincoln is.
“Well, we’re making progress. So, you know who he is, you just don’t want to tell uswherehe is.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I fire up the blowtorch to cauterize the wounds, and when the stench of burned flesh hangs in the air, we leave the cell and join Rome and Carson with the other guy.
“Well, they’re having fun,” Julian mutters as we walk inside the room and see thatthisguy is missing his nose, and Carson is peeling the skin off his hand.
“That’s gotta hurt,” I reply as I cross my arms over my chest.
“Gonna leave a mark,” Julian agrees.
“Where is Lincoln?” Rome asks, and when the man in the chair, who hasn’t evenflinched, simply stares at him, Rome punches him in the mouth.
“We know that you work for him,” I supply, and his eyes shift to me. “Your buddy over there has beenveryhelpful. How long have you been with him?”
No answer.
Carson doesn’t just continue meticulously taking his skin. He rips it off, making the man grunt with the pain.
“You get to decide how bad we make it hurt,” Julian reminds him. “You’re dead anyway. Just tell us what we want to know, and this all ends.”
“Fuck you.”
“They always offer sex,” I say, shaking my head. “No, I don’t want to have sex with you in exchange for letting you loose. Although, we could fuck you with that knife over there.” I cringe. “Talk about pain. I bet having a huge knife like that rammed up your ass over and over again will make you cry for your mama. Let’s try it.”
Carson grins, the crazy motherfucker, but the man in the chair says, “Wait.”
I turn and lift an eyebrow.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Lincoln has a compound about twenty minutes outside of Vegas. He’s there for tonight, no idea where he’s going after that. He doesn’t stay in one place very long.”
“Address,” Carson barks.
“I don’t know the mailing address, I’ve never sent him a birthday card,” he growls back, and I admit, I kind of like him.
But I still pick up the knife.
“I can give you directions.” He starts rattling them off, and Julian opens his laptop, punching the keys, and then he narrows his eyes and looks up.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not bullshitting you,” he insists. “That’s his place.”
I look over Julian’s shoulder and feel my stomach roll.
It’s practically next door to Julian’s mansion out of town. No more than a mile away.
Fuck.
