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Maddox lets out a dark chuckle, dropping his head for a second. Snapping his head back up, his eyes almost black, he says, “I’ll feed her and the rest of your fucking family to the wolves if you don’t start talking, Marchant. You wanted to play with the big boys, and now you face the consequences of your choices.”
Maddox holds onto him a second longer before releasing him and stepping back. With a small nod to me, I step forward again, ready to continue.
Raising my hand, the silver blade glinting in the fading light, I take Marchant’s chin in my own grasp. He fights, attempting to pull his face free as the tip of the blade meets the corner of his mouth. Slipping the cold blood covered steel inside his mouth, he stills instantly. But my body comes a-fucking-live with the prospect of spilling more of his blood. My own blood rushes through my veins, and my dick hardens beneath my jeans.
Fuck!I fight the need to adjust myself and focus on the wide-eyed, terror-filled face of Marchant as I press a little harder into the side of his mouth, drawing the first bead of blood there.
A gurgled plea whispers from Marchant, and I pause.
“Something you want to say?” Drawing the knife away enough for him to speak, he swallows thickly.
“You think you’re the first to threaten my sister, use her against me?” He huffs out a deep breath before continuing, “I’ll tell you everything, but you need to promise to protect my sister.”
“You seem to have mistaken me for someone that gives a shit, Marchant,” Maddox says.
“Not at all, but I know you care about Roxanne Whitmore, so if you want to see her again, then you’ll agree.”
Maddox springs forward, landing a punch to Marchant’s cheek. A loud crack rings out followed by a grunt of pain.
“Don’t fucking say her name, you little fucking cunt!” Maddox grits out between clenched teeth. I know for a fact the only thing keeping Marchant alive right now is the possibility he has something that will help Rox. Maddox drives his fist into Marchant’s gut. “What do you fucking know about Roxanne?”
Marchant pants, trying to catch his breath before speaking. “I know that she’s locked up. Rogers has a cop on the inside who provided him with enough evidence to convict her of Theo’s murder.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I need your word that you’ll help my sister.”
Maddox looks to me, and I nod letting him know I’m with him. “I’ll ensure she gets out of London alive, but after that, she’s on her fucking own. Now, fucking spill it, Marchant.”
Marchant nods. “Rogers still has all your gear. He’s got it stashed at a warehouse in Surrey.”
“Where?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I overheard him talking to a guy with an Irish accent. They were making some kind of deal.”
“About?” Maddox demands, stepping forward into Marchant’s face.
“I don’t—” The air rushes from him as Maddox lands an uppercut to his ribs. “Ooomph!”
“Bullshit, Marchant! Tell me what you fucking know, or you’re going to die slow and fucking painfully.”
Marchant hisses as he tries to suck air back into his lungs. “Rogers promised him your territory and an arms deal with the Bratva in exchange for his help in getting rid of you. That’s it. I don’t know anything else.”
“Very well.” Spinning to face me, he says, “He’s all yours, Zak.” Maddox strides from the room, and I take his place in front of him.
Marchant raises his chin to me as the door slams shut behind Maddox. Resolve clear as day in his eyes. I don’t doubt for one second that he ever thought he’d leave here alive. It’s why he asked us to take care of his sister.
“Any last wishes, Marchant,” I ask.
He contemplates it for a moment before answering. “Not my face. Anything else but leave my face untouched.”
I give a nod, then land a punch to his torso forcing his head forward. Drawing my blade out from my back pocket, I glide it over a fresh and untouched area on his side, running it down to his hip and marvelling at the deep shade of red that follows like a shadow.
I do the same on the other side, ignoring the lust stirring in my gut. I’ve given up questioning my dark desires and instead embrace them.
I carve into Merchant’s skin until there isn’t an area that hasn’t been touched by my blade and isn’t dripping with blood.
When I’ve finally satisfied my blood lust, I push his head back so that I can see his eyes. They are already beginning to dull from blood loss and not feeling the need to make him suffer anymore, I flick my wrist out, slicing across his jugular.
I watch as the skin whitens before blood blooms forth like a waterfall, gushing from the wound and tumbling down his body to pool at his feet.
As he gurgles his last breath, I turn and walk away.
