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Drake shook his head. “His financials show payments to two men. He’s only got those guys and no one else. I’m sure.”
“I believe you.” I nudged him. “Let’s go.”
Tiptoeing through the house gave me the sensation of being a hunter. Stalking my prey to take them down. There was something much more visceral about this than having them tied up nice and neat for me to deal with. Like when I’d been back at the house, and Sam had sent us out into the woods. The excitement was building, like an orgasm ready to explode the moment I captured my quarry.
Eventually, we found him. Deep in the bowels of the house, the muffled sounds of music led us to a room that looked like it had been designed to be some sort of lounge. A small bar sat in the corner with shelves laden with bottles of liquor along with a tiny wine cooler. In the opposite corner, a huge armchair of green velvet held Marco. His head tilted to the side, light snores rumbling from his chest, an empty glass still in his hand, resting on his stomach.
I could almost feel my eyes dilate at the sight of him. Knowing what was about to happen, I grew even more sexually excited than I’d been outside when Drake killed the guard. It was all I could do not to press a hand between my legs to relieve the ache building there.
Wordlessly, Drake motioned me forward, and he unzipped the backpack as soundlessly as he could. From within, he pulled a nylon rope that he’d pre-tied into a noose, and handed me a handful of zip ties. He pointed to the wooden legs of the chair, then to Marco’s ankles, and I nodded in understanding.
Marco’s drunken snores continued as Drake and I both got into position. A greasy anxious sweat coated my body as I looped the ties around the wooden leg and the ankle, keeping them loose for now to ensure he didn’t wake up, letting the thin strips of plastic rest on his foot, ready to be pulled tight on Drake’s signal. When I had them both in place, I nodded to Drake.
Through the holes of the ski mask, I saw Drake’s eyes flare with excitement as he gently lowered the noose over Marco’s head. The angle of the man’s head made it hard to get the rope around his chin. That problem was solved an instant later as Marco’s eyes fluttered open.
“What?” His voice slurred as his alcohol hazed eyes locked on mine.
Confusion slowly faded to fear and understanding as his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. A black clad figure in a mask and gloves kneeling before you in your home when it was supposed to be empty had to be one hell of a shock. His eyes widened in fear and he opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, Drake pushed the rest of the rope over his chin and cinched it tight.
Marco’s eyes widened even more, and his hands snapped to the rope now digging into the soft flesh of his throat. Before he could begin thrashing, I reached forward, grabbed the tails of both zip ties, and yanked them tight. The zippery zit-zit sound of both ties tightening around his legs was drowned out by the gasping grunts of Marco as he clawed at the rope Drake held. Marco was a big man, but his strength was nothing compared to that of Drake, who held him in place.
“Dahlia,” Drake said in a remarkably calm and conversational voice. “More ties in the bag. Get them and do his hands.”
Doing as he asked, I pulled the items out and went to Marco. The man’s eyes were rolling wildly as he began to realize he couldn’t fight Drake. Even as he tried to slap himself forward to break the hold on the rope, he only caused the noose to tighten even more. His face was purple with strain and oxygen loss. I managed to grab his left hand and get it tied to the wooden cross piece below the padded armrest, but when I reached for his right hand, he lashed out in panic, striking me in the face. The blow was more surprising than painful, but I still rocked back, tumbling to the floor.
Drake hissed in anger and pulled the rope even tighter. Marco’s tongue lolled out as all oxygen was cut off. His strength ebbing, I scrambled up and tied his other hand down, pulling the tie so tight his fingers started turning red almost immediately.
Marco let out a gagging, retching gasp when Drake released the noose’s tension, allowing air to again slide down his windpipe into his lungs. I sat back on my heels, catching my own breath and allowing my heartrate to come back down.
“Holy shit,” I muttered and touched my chin where Marco had hit me. “Fucker’s gonna pay for that.”
“Are you hurt?” Drake asked, kneeling next to me, touching my masked face with his gloved hands.
“I’m fine. Let’s do this.”
“Qui es-tu putain?” Marco hissed in French.
“English, if you please,” Drake said, and gestured to me. “I speak French, but my friend does not.”
“Who…the fuck…are you people,” Marco gasped in a thick accent, leveling his angry eyes on us. “Do you have any clue who I am? My men will be here any second to blow your fucking brains out.”
“Not likely,” Drake said as he stood. “One of your men is with your wife on her dinner out with friends. The other, sorry to say, is resting eternally out in your courtyard. We have you all alone, my dear friend.”
Marco, face sheened in sweat, stared at Drake for several seconds. Options flipping through his mind as he contemplated whether or not we were telling the truth.
Before he could respond, Drake continued. “As for the first question? We know exactly who you are. Marco Sevantes, otherwise known as Marco Laurent. Born and raised in Lyon, France. You murdered your first wife before grooming a child to be your new bride, which you accomplished after paying her family thousands of dollars from the right to her underage body. How am I doing so far?”
“These are lies,” Marco barked. “You have no proof I killed Camille. I loved her.”
“We aren’t discussing your guilt or innocence here, Marco. All we are here to do is give you the punishment you deserve. The punishment a murdering pedophile deserves.” Drake leaned down so his eyes were level with Marco’s. “How many times did you fuck Amina before she came of age? Hmm? Is that why you had to pay? Her father and brothers found out she’d been taken advantage of?”
Marco spat at Drake, spittle hitting the mask. “Fuck you.”
“As I thought.” Drake turned to look at me. “He’s all yours, my dear. Make me proud.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. I’d have assumed he’d want to take the lead.
“Absolutely,” Drake said, stepping out the side.
