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We were both raised to question everything, everyone. It’s one of the early life lessons I am actually grateful for.
Sin’s head is lowered to his chest, though the tightness of his posture makes it clear he’s awake. The lights above cast shadows on his features and the hollows of his eyes, creating a haunting look. He has a thin muscle shirt and jeans on with huge leather boots I’m sure I could fit both my feet in with ease. His pants are ripped and bloody, revealing a huge expanse of scarred skin. Without a shirt, his body seems to glow in the neon light. Wherever my eyes fall are burns, cuts, and scars with a spatter of hair in the middle. There is no smooth expanse of skin I can see, all of it knotted and disfigured in varying ways.
Even from across the room, he looks huge. The chains confining him do nothing to dispel the aura of danger that surrounds this man.
My heels clack against the concrete as I move around the room, staying out of reach as I circle him. I catch sight of a few circular scars on his shoulders, not initially realizing when my own hand comes up to touch similar scars on my own arm. I remember the day well, whenheput his cigar out on my arm. I’d cried, so he did it again and again until I learned not to cry.
I push the thought from my mind. Vasily and his bullshit has no place here.
I circle back to the front and stop a few feet away from Sin. His head lifts slightly, I assume to look at me, but his eyes are still shrouded in darkness, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead. The movement reveals more of his face, including a thick scar running down one side of his face which connects to a mottled piece of skin, causing half of his face to look misshapen.
“They tell me you’re called Sin,” I say, waving the small folder in one hand. “Now, what kind of mother names a child something like that, I wonder.”
He chuckles darkly, a low and unpleasant sound as he nods toward my feet. The voice that comes out of him is raw and gritty, like someone gargling glass.
“What kind of interrogator wears fucking heels?” he asks, gaze fixed on my shoes.
“The kind who gives two shits about what you think about her shoes,” I snap back quickly, immediately regretting it. I never get riled up by comments about my gender. In fact, I intentionally dress like I do. Only helps throw people off and besides, it makes me feel like a badass bitch. Breathing out through my nose, I bring a tight smile to my face.
He lifts his eyes, dark and steady as they meet mine. Despite the fact I’m sure his head is pounding from the drugs we gave him and that he’s literally chained up in a dungeon, he appears confident, unbothered. There isn’t an ounce of fear in the man in front of me.
“What’s your name?” I ask directly, and this time, he raises an eyebrow. The scar on his cheek lifts slightly with the motion.
“Sin.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Sin.”
My teeth clench, but I keep my smile. It’s not like I’d expected him to actually tell me.
“Alright, Sin. Do you know who I am?” I ask instead. He takes his time, looking me up and down.
“Red-headed cunt?”
My finger falls to the small button hidden in the palm of my hand, and Sin’s entire body seizes as electricity shoots through it. If he’s not careful about pissing me off, he’ll get a lot more scars from electricity burns where the metal is. His teeth clench together, but he makes little sound even though I know he must be in agony. I let go, and his body deflates, hair falling over his brow before he takes a few heavy breaths out of his nostrils, his death glare firmly on me.
“That all you got, cunt?”
I press the button again, and this time I’m rewarded with a ragged grunt. I smile and release the button once more, giving him a moment to catch his breath.
“The electricity, it’s fed through the chains?” he questions after a moment, and I nod. It’s a special device I put together that’s relatively simple but an effective way to electrocute a prisoner and gain compliance. He barks out a small laugh. “Not bad, at least for a c—”
“I fucking hate that word, okay? So I suggest you try to be a bit more civil than that.”
I’m surprised when the corner of his mouth turns up a hint.
“Fair enough,” is all he says. I don’t have time to question the reaction before Kris steps in, placing a metal chair down beside me.
Sin watches Kris closely, making no effort to hide his disdain. I make a mental note to ask Kris again about Sin’s acquisition. He’d glossed over the details, saying it had been a tough pickup. If the broken arm is anything to go by, much less the death stares Sin is giving him right now, it ought to be a good story.
Sin doesn’t take his eyes off Kris until he leaves the room, and it’s only once I’ve taken my seat that his gaze wanders back to me.
“Much better,” I say with a smile, wiggling into my seat. “Now, where was I? Ah, that’s right. I was asking if you knew who I was, and you were being a dick. Let’s try that again. Do you know who I am? Where you are?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches me with those black eyes. I’ve known many men with dark, emotionless eyes, but never ones with so much depth in them. His face gives away nothing, yet his gaze hints at so much more. He’ll be a tough one to break.
I don’t think he’s going to answer when he finally gives a short nod.
