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I don’t take my eyes off my target, watching two thin streams of crimson trailing down his arms and soaking into the fabric of his grey shirt. “Oh, I will,” I reply as though I have all the fucking time in the world.
Before I do, I want him to be in white-hot agony. I want the pain to steal the breath from his lungs until it feels like they’re going to explode inside of him. I walk over to Joseph as I grab the small glass bottle of acid from the table. I stand in front of him and revel at the terror showing in his eyes
I keep my voice calm as I ask, "I have to know… You have money, you own clubs, so why buy little girls?" Why would a young, hot-shot businessman, the kind that has eyes on him at all times, buy girls? It's so fucking high-risk of being exposed.
He starts laughing. "Because I can. Just the thought of the sweet little bitch I had makes my dick hard—she was something special, all right.”
I clench my fist and pull my arm back before letting it fly toward his face, his jaw crunching under my knuckles on impact. “You know, it’s people like you that make me enjoy what I’m doing right now," I say as he spits blood out onto the floor.
I gently squeeze the dropper from the top of the bottle and pull it out, careful not to lose any of the precious liquid inside the glass tube.
“What the fuck is that?” Joseph asks, his voice trembling while he stupidly tries to back away from my unhurried movement.
“Shh, this won’t hurt much.” I move the tiny end of the tube over the first wound. “It’ll be fucking excruciating,” I say as I allow one small drop to be released. I close my eyes as his high-pitched screams fill the room. “Music to my ears.” A couple more drops and then I do the same to the other side, watching as his skin begins to melt, the smell of burning flesh filling my nostrils.
I walk back to the table and grab the small photograph.
Joseph’s heavy breaths calm a little, his chest heaving as he pants through his pain. "I don’t understand; what have I done to you?" he grinds out through his clenched jaw.
"You haven’t done anything to me; you’ve done it to someone else. A girl you bought.—”
“Hope.” Joseph shakes his head.
I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest, still holding onto the photo. “What makes you think I’m talking about her?"
"She's the only one I've ever bought," he purrs. An evil smile stretches across his face, and I want to rip it from him. "She just needed to learn the rules and when she did," he licks his lips, "God, she was perfect."
I slide my eyes to Jackson and see that he’s staring at him in disgust. When he faces me, he grinds his jaw, hatred burning in his eyes.
“You know that there’s a two-million dollar price on Hope’s head,” the sick fucker says, catching our attention. “The big boss wants her back—teach her a few lessons." He lets out a low chuckle. "She was the best he ever trained." His grin drops and he glares behind me towards Jackson. “So, instead of wasting your fucking time on me, go and make yourself a rich man—find her.”
I can't help but laugh, and his surprised eyes move back over to me. "Do we look like we need money?" The asshole has read me wrong in so many ways. I get up close to him, so close that I can smell the whiskey on his breath. I hold the photo in front of his face. "Do you know this man?"
Joseph's eyes flinch, but he shakes his head. “Never seen him.”
I spin around and walk over to Jackson. "He’s lying,” I grind out.
"You want me to get him down?" Jackson looks over my shoulder. "And try to keep your fucking cool. I’m worried you’re going to slip and fuck this up before we know anything."
I let out a long breath. ”I know, but he’s talking about her—”
"I know,” he cuts in, grabbing my arm as I try to walk around him. “But now you know why she’s always hiding. They’re still looking for her." He walks away as I decide on what item to use next.
Hearing the chair behind me, I turn to watch Jackson pull the rope from the overhead hook, lowering the man's arms. He tries to struggle, even with his bound legs, but Jackson's too fast and throws him in the chair. His fatigued arms slam down on the table when Jackson hauls him forward, and I hold them down while Jackson grabs the duct tape. It takes no time for Jackson to secure his arms by rolling the tape around the table over and over until he's satisfied the nonce is secure.
"I’m going to ask again,” I say calmly, holding up the photo as I perch on the edge of the table. “Who is this man?"
"Like I’ve already said—never seen him," he replies, his trembling tone giving away that he’s close to shitting his pants.
I stand up and grab the other wooden chair to sit opposite him. I trail my fingertips over the object of my desire, a five-inch dagger that has been sharpened so much it could be used for surgery.
In one quick movement, I grab the knife and stab it through his little finger, barely scraping the knuckle. I grin as the digit comes away easily, rolling off the table and dropping with a light thud on the floor.
Joseph screams out a string of curse words too choked up in blinding agony to understand. He pants as he tries to catch his breath.
"Where can I find him?" I ask again. This asshole knows the answer to every question I want to ask, and I'm going to get them if I have to cut everyone out of him.
"I don’t know where he lives—he comes to me.” He lifts his sweat-soaked head to look at me again, his eyes red and his lids fluttering. "What do you want from him?"
