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Brain yells, his eyes scrunching close, and his teeth snap together as he tries to ease the pain, but there is no ease. His betrayal has earned him endless pain. Sneering, I twist the handle again, and he bellows, “To kill the President’s daughter and the two other Senators for their scheming against him.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I state, happy for the answer but pissed I have to start with the questions the Fraternitas are desperate for. All I want to do is kill the slimy Judas and know how to rid ourselves of the desperate, brother fucking wankstain, Samantha Davenport. “Why does Baker want Isabella dead?” I ask, cranking the handle two more times
Brian sucks in a lungful of air before his breaths steady. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“Wrong answer,” I snarl, turning the device once more. Drool runs down the sides of his face, but I can tell he’s not ready to budge. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or elated by his refusal to cooperate. I want desperately to get answers and be done with him, but I also want to make him suffer more than I did at his hands this summer.
“Fuck you,” Brain says, then spits. I don’t move, allowing spittle to fly through the air and land on my mask. My top lip curls as some of his saliva hits my face through the holes.
Reaching around, I grab the machete and wildly swing, giving no thought to where it will actually land. “You really can’t seem to get it through your thick skull, can you, Brian?” I growl as the blade connects with his thigh. Easily cutting through flesh, muscles, and tendons. His shrill cries echo off the walls. “You’re a dead man. How slow your death is—that’s up to you.”
“He wants the President to have to leave the campaign trail to mourn the loss of his daughter while simultaneously dealing with the media fallout from where she was found dead,” Brain explains between staccato breaths.
“And the two senators?” I question, yanking the blade from his leg. Brian’s teeth clench before he throws his head back and yelps. I’m almost tempted to use his ugly face like a piñata and the machete as the stick.
I’m preparing to swing the blade again when his gaze meets mine. “They were going to release information,” he huffs, then continues. “They’d switched sides…decided they didn’t like where they would fall. Didn’t have enough power. They planned to inform the President in hopes of currying favor.”
I made a mental note to tell Lev to look into the senators, but I’m sure he’ll study the footage from this room in minute detail. “Who else has control over the chip in Owen’s arm?” I demand, feeling like a pompous ass for speaking in third person.
Brian’s pupils double in size. “H-how did you know about that?”
My brows scrunch in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Only those in the innermost circle of Senator Baker and the Fraternitas know about that. Which means,” he trails off, lowering his head momentarily before snapping it back up. “Which one of the fuckhead heirs are you?”
“And here I thought you were a complete dunce.” Seeing no reason to hide my identity, I lift the mask so it sits on the top of my head and turn off the voice modulator. As he takes me in, the color leeches from Brain’s face when he realizes who is questioning him.
His jaw drops open. “No…no…no. You’re not allowed to do this.”
“Surprise, motherfucker,” I smirk, then sail the blade through the air and connect with his other side. “Now, answer my fucking questions, or the next shot will be your head.”
“Please stop. I’m sorry, man. I was doing what I was told. I’ll tell you anything. Whatever you want—their plans. The names of the traitors that are still in the Fraternitas ranks. Anything. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Who else controls the chip in my arm?”
Hanging his head in defeat, Brian sighs. “Senator Baker and Samantha. If anything happens to either of them, an alert goes to the device, then you and whoever is in a one mile radius go boom.”
“Can we just take them?”
“No, they’re biometrical. So only they can disarm the chip. And as you already know, if you kill them, you die. If you remove the devices, you die. If you piss either of them off enough?—”
Clenching my fist, I cut Brian off. “I die. I got it.”
“Wrap this up. He doesn’t know anything else important,” Lev instructs in my ear. I knew the fucker would be watching.
Huffing, I yank the blade from his side and unscrew the device from his side. Brian sags in relief until he looks up. I watch as it sinks in. The moment he finally understands. He’s not getting out of here. This is where his actions will be meted out. Death is the only thing coming for him, and I’m the reaper that will deliver his soul straight to hell.
“You’re a coward, and your thirst for power led you here,” I growl, rearing my arm back. I slam the Pear of Anguish in his eye and crank the handle five times before he can blink. Brian wails, his body convulsing from shock, and I watch as the spot that used to house his right eye caves in. Not satisfied because he’s still bleeding, I two-fist the machete swing, connecting with his throat until its progress is stopped by bone. But it’s enough to end his cries.
I don’t bother to admire my work. Sliding my mask back in place, I turn on the modulator and exit the room. There’s still more hunting to do.
39
WYATT
We all remain quiet as the elevator descends to the SCIF on the sublevel of the Fraternitas. We had barely finished our debrief with Matthieu when our phones went off in unison. The Council was summoning us.
“You know they’re going to want an explanation,” Wes mutters, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
