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I pull up to the purpose-built holding house out in the scummiest part of town. From the outside, it looks like no lights are on, but I know there must be. Annika is out of the car before I’ve even applied the hand break and I find myself scurrying to catch up to her. Heading straight up the hall to the back room where Calvin is being held.
Annika pushes the door open with such force that it bangs loudly against the wall. The three guards in the room all swing their gazes to us, tightening their grips on their weapons before falling back in line once they realise who it is. She storms over to Calvin sat in an old rickety chair, his hands tied behind his back, and she plants her stiletto in the centre of his chest kicking him so hard that his chair topples over.
“Fuuuuck,” Calvin groans. “What’s your problem, bitch?”
One of the armoured guards step forward as if to intervene but quickly jumps back again when the boss stands over the maggot on the floor, her heel poking into the fleshy part between his shoulder and peck. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Gregson.”
“I ain’t giving you shit,” he spits between gritted teeth.
“Someone, Calvin, has been running kids in my part of the city. What do you know about it?”
“What makes you think I know anything?” he growls, then groans when Annika puts more pressure on his chest.
“I don’t think, Iknow. You really are a pathetic shit, aren’t you, Gregson?”
“You know nothing,” he snorts. “You couldn’t know anything unless…” he trails off, his face slipping into a sickening grin. “Oooohh.” He chuckles evilly. “The runaways?” When her jaw clenches, he seems to revel in her anger. “We were wondering where those little cunts went. Pity, the little one was about to have her big debut. But her sister, she’s already one of my favourites.”
Annika’s somewhat limited composure snaps, she bares her teeth and drives her heel in until it pierces his flesh. Sticky blood overflows from the wound, almost like it’s boiling over. Calvin wails, moisture leaking from his eyes and rolling down his temples.
“Man up, Gregson. Your tears disgust me.” I can almost imagine Annika in Viking warrior dress, with war paint on her face and a sword in her hand. She is every part the ruthless queen as she stares down at the piece of shit beneath her shoe.My rainha.
“You fucking bitch, cunt-whore,” he cries, struggling against her but between his hands still bound behind his back where he lays and Annika’s weight on his chest, he barely jostles her.
Leaning over him, she snarls, “If ridding my city of degenerates like you makes me a bitch, I will gladly take the title.” She moves off him and steps back. “Stand him up,” she barks at no one in particular.
Two guards grab him under his arms and haul him to his feet. Coming nose to nose with him, she gives him a hard stare. I don’t like her proximity to the motherfucker; I want to pull her away, to stand between them, and stop her from breathing the sameair. But that wouldn’t go down well, so I keep my arms folded across my chest, stopping them from doing something stupid.
“Where are the children being held?” Her question is quiet and eerily calm after her outburst.
“Go fuck yourself, whore.”
That’s it. No longer able to stay back, I reach him in two strides, grabbing the hair at the back of his head, and wrenching it back. “Answer the question, shit stain.”
“Make me,cop.” He spits the word like it offends him. I’ve felt uneasy every time Annika or one of her guys has called me a cop since I started this ill-fated mission. But for some reason, hearing it from this dickhead makes me seethe. He thinks I’m a brown-nosing, by the book, pencil pusher who won’t overstep some arbitrary line. He thinks he can push me, and I’ll hold back due to some professional sense of morality. He’s wrong. I didn’t do that even when I held my badge.
I pull my fist back and swing it into ribs, over and over again. Annika watches with no expression on her face. Rage fuels me, keeping my blows coming. My fist stings and I take great satisfaction knowing that his pain is worse, that he’s probably bleeding on the inside of his breaking and battered body.
A gentle hand on my shoulder halts my assault. Annika looks at me with the same neutrality she usually has but her message is clear.Enough now.
“Where are the children?” she asks again.
Calvin is bent double, wheezing in pain and heaving. “Fuck y—”
I sweep my leg out, knocking his feet from under him and slam my boot down on his shin. The satisfying sound of his bones crunching is only slightly drowned out by his pained scream.
“Where. Are. The. Children?”
He grunts and groans as the guards pull him back up straight, holding on so he doesn’t topple over. “George Street,” he huffs, defeated and deflated. “There’s a house on the corner with a bashed-up Transit van out the front. The house is used a bit but most of theproductis kept in the basement.” He speaks through clenched teeth.
Annika tilts her head, looking down on him even though they are the same height. “You were sickeningly easy to break.”
Both Calvin and I jerk in surprise when she reaches between them, and flicks open his belt.What is she doing?
“The fuck you doing?” he asks nervously.
“Nothing less than you deserve,” she sighs, as though bored with the conversation.
Popping the button on his dirty jeans, she yanks them down. His lack of underwear means his soft cock is immediately exposed. “Wh-wha…what are you doing?” he asks again, this time sounding far less defiant and far more terrified.
