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The voice of the men tied to the metal chair bounces off the walls of the concrete room, as he stares up at Vin standing before him. He cocks his head, the act so slow, the guy blinks rapidly, erratically, the growing discomfort palpable.
“I’m… I’m serious,” the asshole stutters.
Vin straightens, and the man’s eyes flicker to the small knife he is lazily rolling between his fingers, his other hand casually sitting in the pocket of his black trousers.
“Fuck, man! I get it, he took your women, but I had nothing to do with it! I’m not in Bartiste’s inner circle. I have no idea where he’s gone!”
“I didn’t ask,” Vin finally replies.
“Then what the fuck do you want from me?”
“To tell me where you think he is.”
“Is he for real?” He turns to look at Madds toward the left corner of the room, before his gaze drifts to me, his attitude growing cocky. “I just told you I don’t know where he is, man.”
The shriek is the first thing we hear, before we even register the swift, fluid movement with which Vincent threw the knife. It pierced the man’s inner thigh.
“You seem to have an attention issue. I asked you where youthinkBartiste is, not if you know his location. Now…” Vin leans in, just enough that he grips the end of the knife handle with the tips of his thumb and middle finger. “You have until I completely pull out this blade from your thigh to answer me with enough detail that Maddox here can imagine every single street, door, and window, so he can fucking paint it afterward. He’s not good at painting, you see, so you have to make sure you’re very accurate. If you give us everything I want, I’ll stick the knife back in and you won’t bleed out on our new floor.”
“Fuck you!” he spits, but Vincent dips to the left quick enough that it misses him.
His answer is the slow, harrowing pull of the knife as the asshole seethes through clenched teeth.
“It has a very short blade, as you saw, and right now it’s the only thing blocking the flow of blood in your femoral artery.”
“Like you won’t kill me anyway.”
“I’m a man of my word. If I tell you I’ll stick this knife back in and won’t kill you, I mean it. Now… you don’t have long. Spill. Oh… sorry, no pun intended.” He puts the man in a daze, constantly switching his attention from his words to the blade slowly sliding out from his flesh.
It confuses him, and hespills, telling us the details of the two locations he’s heard Bartiste talk about. The motherfucker escaped. He was shot—twice, yet he still fucking escaped. He might be dead, but we don’t want to take the chance. We need to make sure.
When we’re satisfied with the amount of information he offers, I take a few steps forward as Vin slides the knife back in, then steps back. The man lets out a strained sigh, relieved as he looks down at his leg. He might be lying to us, but the information was too specific, and it’s better than nothing. Hope shines in his eyes when he meets mine, ready to be released and make good on Vin’s word. He wasn’t lying. He is indeed a man of his word, and if he says he won’t kill him—he won’t.
I made no such promise.
The last expression in his eyes before my bullet pierces his lung is of confusion. It paused on his features for a couple of seconds before he realized his blood was replacing the oxygen needed to breathe.
“You said…” he gurgled as blood rose and spilled from his mouth.
“Ididn’t say anything.”
His eyes widen and pain fills them with such speed, the realization that he’s facing a slow, painful death hitting him far too early. He will suffer. Yet not nearly as much as he deserves.
I don’t care if he wasn’t one of the culprits who hurt Annika, or Hanna. They all deserve to burn. I would have strung him by his toes to the fucking ceiling if I wasn’t on a mission to find the man who needs to pay in blood, flesh, and bones for touching what’s mine. He will die.
I turn and look toward Vin, but he speaks before I get to.
“Go. I’ll tell Carter.”
I nod, head to the door, but stop after I pull it open.
“I have this gut feeling we won’t find him,” I tell him without looking his way, my lungs heaving with anger and exhaustion.
“In my experience, pieces of shit like him always pay the price of their sins. Eventually, he’ll make a mistake and crawl out of his hole, and we’ll be there when he does.” He’s talking about his father.
“At least you sent yours to the hole yourself. You got that satisfaction,” I push back.
“One day, he’ll come out. Vile men like him can’t fathom bowing down, and it’s always their downfall.”
