Page 49 of Savage Saint

Henry makes a choked, desperate sound as Onyx’s squeeze tightens.

“Onyx.” Immediately, he eases at the call of his road name. “He talks first.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he drops him and the soon-to-be-dead man drags in a deep breath. We let him have this moment, not as a mercy but so he gets just enough air to stay useful.

“Get up,” Onyx growls; he’s towering over him.

“I can’t see.”

“Not my fucking problem.” The club’s enforcer jerks him up by the throat, but Henry’s legs barely work beneath him. He stumbles, groaning in pain, but that only fanned Onyx’s ire. Instead of letting him go again, he drags Mr. Diaz toward one of the thick poles with shackles attached.

Henry is cuffed, shoulders stretching back and hurting his wound, and his scream rends the air.

Flow lifts a brow.

Rizos doesn’t blink.

Gallo shifts the gun case from one hand to the other.

Then comes the sickening crunch of a bone fracturing. One solid blow, and his nose and cheek are broken. Another gash. Fresh blood.

“Talk,” Onyx growls, his face inches from Henry’s. The latter can’t see him, yet still flinches.

“I-I told y-you everything.” Stammers. More crying.

“You told us enough to keep breathing overnight.” I tap Onyx on the shoulder and he steps back, moving to stand next to Gallo. “Now, I think you have more you’d like to share.”

“I swear⁠—”

“You don’t get to swear.” I’m staring at two empty eye sockets, can smell death on him already. It’s an acrid stench. Like moldy old vinegar that’s been left to sit outside in the sun. “I want names. Dates. Locations. Tell me everything on Volkov, the operation—where he fucking lives, eats, and shits. How many women you’ve moved and to what country.” Henry whimpers, shaking his head as the wet spot on his pant leg grows until puddling on the floor.

Disgusting.

“Saint, I told you everything that matters. Just let me leave…I’ll disappear and⁠—”

“You’ll disappear.” At my words, the tenseness in his body eases. “But how painful the exit is on you. I can torture you for days, or I can gift you a mercy shot. Either way, it’s up to you.”

Once again, I step back and wait.

Henry can’t see any of us, can only hear:

Boots shifting. Leather moving. The constant drip from a leaky pipe overhead.

Not knowing where we are is a punishment of its own.

“I will ask, and you’ll give me to-the-point answers. No bullshit. No winded explanations.” He nods, but I need more than that. “Use your words, Mr. Diaz. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

As an incentive, I look at Onyx and hold up a finger.

He gets one hit, his choice.

Onyx doesn’t hesitate; he acts fast and lands a kick right between Henry legs that makes our guest scream. This time, the sound is high-pitched and immediately followed by vomiting. The steel-toe having caught him in the balls must’ve hurt.

Nothing but bile comes up, and it stinks, but the cruel smile on Onyx’s face is worth the twitching of my nose.

Henry gags a few more times, saliva dripping from his mouth and down his chin while his forehead drops toward his chest. He looks miserable.

“You have five seconds,” I tell him, shaking my head at Onyx when he moves to kick him again.