“Oh? Maks, I’m disappointed. Only one severed Achilles’ heel, and he’s singing like a pretty bird.”
Maks snorts from behind at my jab. “Go on then, little duck. Be a good boy.”
“My family was threatened. I had no choice. I had to. Please—” he stammers.
A lie.
Laughing, I place a kiss on his cheek.
“Didn’t your mama teach you it’s not nice to lie?” I taunt.
Swinging my legs around, I stand, remove my leather jacket, and let it drop to the ground. Maks’s eyes rove over my body. I wink when he meets my heated gaze, then turn around, facing my target.
“Don’t worry, mine didn’t either.”
Crouching down, I cock my head to the side, observing the man in front of me. Unkempt light brown hair, sticky with drying blood. A set of warm amber eyes hidden behind the grime on his face from his basement adventure. Lines from his dried tears streak down his face.
I have to give it to the guy. Maks is phenomenal with torture, and I can tell this man’s been put through the ringer by him. Yet he stays silent about his true intentions. Seeing a woman in front of him, though, he thinks he can use begging and pleading to save himself. He took one look at me and saw weakness.
Tracing my gaze down his body, I’m stopped by his long fingers digging into the chair's armrests. Giving him a toothy smile, I beam brightly. The shudder that shoots through his body goes straight to my pussy.
“I’ve bet you played pussy like a fucking fiddle with these beautiful fingers of yours.” Grabbing his bloodied hand, I snap my gaze to his. “Or is grasping a hard cock with them more your pleasure?”
“What’s your name?” Maks demands from behind me. The man shifts.
“Edward.”
I snap his wrist back, tsking at the unlearned lesson. He grunts when his bone snaps.
“We’re going to have so much fun, you and me,” I smile. “I did hope you’d be a challenge. I can’t wait to make you sing so pretty for me, Edward.”
After hours of torture, I wouldn’t be
surprised if I had more of this man’s blood on my body than he has on his own.
His head lolls side to side, no longer able to remain upright. The only
information we’ve gotten is his name.
Shura Levin.
Maks immediately calls a man to hunt down whatever information he can find about good boy Levin; any hint as to why he’s here or his connection to the feds.
Roughly an hour later, Maks’s man still hasn’t called back, so I keep playing.
Something about this smells like Liam Brenner. My uncle’s shipments were intercepted and my father’s product targeted; that much alone tells me Brenner has been a busy boy in his investigation and has more information than anyone should.
Intelligence is scarce in the lower ranks of this life. But going against The Omen is something nobody with even the smallest amount of sense would do.
This man is not a rat.
He is a federal agent planted in the lion’s den to extract information. Information about my father would benefit Brenner’s investigation and incriminate my uncle’s
mafia on top of it.
Levin’s groans pull me from my thoughts, and my eyes catch sight of a drill sitting in the corner of the small room. My excited laugh rebounds against the walls, making Levin’s head fly back. Maks stands guard at the door, watching my show unfold in front of him. It’s been a long shift, but I’ve kept him entertained.
I’ve removed fingernails, toenails, and teeth. My frustration begs me to cut out his tongue, but I’ve held back since that defeats our purpose here. The pure thrill of torture has given me a set of blue bean, and I have no doubt Maks is feeling it, too.