Page 23 of Captive Ruin

“Shall we get back to it?” I prompt. “You were telling me about Africa.”

“Yes… yes.” He’s only too keen to talk. Apparently, being a six-figure exec of a multinational with no ethics hasn’t prepared him for the eventuality of kidnap and torture. “We only do mining infrastructure,” he whines. “Containment systems… tailings dams…”

“I don’t want the jargon.” I pull out my karambit again, flicking the blade open. Cox’s eyes widen as he focuses on it. “Tell me who your clients are.”

“Uh… it’s not my area…”

I set the blade against his chest, in line with the four cuts that are already there. “Every trade Origin performs flows across your desk. That sounds a lot like an evasion to me.”

“I swear! It sits with our Head of International—”

I draw the knife down, slowly, digging deep. Cox screams, trying to twist away. My hand on his belt keeps the line straight.

When it’s a good six inches down his chest, I stop. Each line is longer than the previous, and it makes a pleasing graduated pattern.

By the time I’m done, Cox sags in his chains, his legs unable to hold him, his wrists taking the strain, shoulders wrenched up. Blood coats his chest and stomach, dripping to the floor.

I step back so I don’t get it on my shoes, giving him a moment to regain his wits. “Shall we try again? Who are your clients?”

He gasps in a pained breath, coughing and sobbing. “I’m not responsible.” He lifts his gaze to mine, trying to convince me he’s telling the truth. “You have to believe me. It’s Andrew Leopold you want. He’s our Head of International Affairs. He’s the one who—”

“I don’t believe you. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if you like this. Shall we go for another line?”

“It’s just Africa!” he cries out as I raise my karambit. “Pay enough bribes, and all the problems go away!”

“Look at yourself and tell me the problems go away. What do you think happens when the SEC or DOJ find out?”

“They won’t!” Cox whimpers. “This is how business is done in Africa, don’t you understand?”

“Save your bullshit excuses,” I growl. “Let me break it down for you. Local slave labor. Women kept in camps for the men. Communities destroyed, water sources contaminated. Heavy metal poisoning, elevated cancer rates—and that’s just what we’ve uncovered so far. If we can do it, so can anyone else who looks.” I shake my head. “Very disappointing, Cox.”

“No one cares!” he cries. “How the hell do you think mining is done in those parts of the world?”

I’m getting bored now. “This isn’t an ethical debate. You’re going to give me the name of every client you work with in that continent. We’re going to shut it all down.”

“Who the hell do you work for?” he asks, incredulous. “Are you some fucking human rights bleeding-heart terrorist?”

“I give you credit for running your mouth when you’ve already lost a finger and I’ve told you I’m now in a bad mood.” I add a sixth line to my design, taking my time, cutting deeper. The screams fade to sobs about halfway through, and Cox looks on the verge of losing consciousness when I’m finished. I slap him awake. “The names, please. Every client.”

“WLG… Extraction,” he mumbles. “Crestfield Mining.” He swallows hard, working his mouth. “Consolidated… Mineral… Group.”

“And the rest?”

“That’s all I know. I swear… that’s all.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

He looks at me with misguided hope in his eyes. “Are you going to let me go?”

I scoff. “Of course not.”

“But… what are you going to do?”

In answer, I grip hold of his belt again, and press my blade to the side of his neck.

“Wait!” he cries. “Please! I have a family!”

“So did everyone in those communities you destroyed.”