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“But you made the mistake of underestimating me. You thought you could get to me using your police tactics. I’m much better than you in that game. You should’ve considered bringing an armada or a fleet.”
Dimitri paused to consider something.
“Now, you’re mine. And you’ll be forgotten like the many others who’ve entered this room. When I’m done with you, I’ll go see Greg. He deserves a punishment too.”
Dimitri whistled and Simon came forward. He clutched Mack’s hand and held it
out to Dimitri. Mack’s eyes widened in horror. His heart pounded aggressively.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” he yelled frantically. “What’re you doing?”
“Tut, tut, tut,” Dimitri said. “It’s a little too late now.”
The pain Mack felt as the pincers clamped over his little finger was so intense that he screamed his heart out. Dimitri stuck out his tongue as he clamped the pincers harder over Mack’s finger. Dimitri’s face was decked in pleasure as he felt the pincers crush the bone of Mack’s little finger. Mack’s cries died down as he slumped. He teetered on the edge of consciousness. The only sounds in the room were Brenda’s cries and Dimitri’s effusion of glee as he held up Mack’s little finger.
“Let’s get one of yours, darling,” he said, approaching Brenda.
Brenda began to struggle frantically against her bonds. Just then Simon’s phone rang.
Dimitri rolled his eyes and groaned.
“How many times have I told you to switch off your phone when we’re in here? An artist at work must have no distractions or the performance is spoiled.”
Simon listened to the phone for a few seconds, and a frown creased his face.
“Boss,” he called as soon as he was off the call, “there’s trouble. The package slated for shipping tomorrow have escaped their confinement.”
“How’s that possible?” Dimitri asked, turning away from Brenda.
“Someone must have let them loose.”
“Then what are we still doing here?’ he cried. “My properties are running about. Let’s go bring them back in. Bring the children back in.”
The wave of relief that washed through Brenda as Dimitri stalked out of the room, pincers in hand, was like nothing she’d ever felt. Simon followed him quickly, as did Boyce and Mrs. Cumming. As soon as the room was empty, Brenda nudged at Mack. He groaned. Brenda sighed audibly. He was still alive, but he was losing blood. She didn’t know what to do. The wound on Mack’s finger needed to be staunched, but how to work her way out of her bonds? She wiggled her fingers against the bonds, when suddenly the door flew open and Greg stormed in, dragging a young woman in a bikini with him.
Brenda stared at him, confused and wondering what was going on now. Greg looked like he’d been through a battering. His left eye was swollen shut, his lips split, and there were multiple discolored patches and swellings on his face. There was a gash on his forehead that trickled blood across his face. He staggered toward where Mack lay slumped and pushed his head up. Mack was visibly weak.
“Please help him,” Brenda blurted. “He’s bleeding out. His finger—or what remains of it—needs to be stanched.”
Greg ripped off a piece of his shirt and used it to stanch Mack’s bleeding.
“Hey,” he said, sniffing.
Brenda looked at him.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “Now, when I was in the police station, your boyfriend here—”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Brenda interjected.
“Whatever. He promised to take care of me and my sister if I testified against Dimitri.”
Brenda felt anger rise like vomit to her throat.
“So, you want to testify now, eh? What changed your mind? Got a sound thrashing from your boss?”
“Lady, this is no time for sarcastic comments, okay,” Greg said. “I’ve had enough of my sister sex-slaving for him.”
He turned to look at the girl who was sobbing to herself.
