I felt a bit bad for the guy because not only was he knocked out with a rather nasty bruise covering his face, but I knew he would be terrified when he woke up. I hated Ian, but I pitied George. The kid had absolutely no ability to stand up for himself, and if he wasn’t so sleazy, I would have felt guilty about tying him up down here. As it stood, I didn’t because I had caught him way too many times trying to prove his manhood to his asshole friends by harassing random women at the events we both attended.
“Drink?” Lincoln offered me a glass.
I nodded my thanks, noticing that Stratton looked particularly tense right now, exhaling on his cigarette, two other butts at his feet. I wondered how long they had been down here. I shot back the pour of whiskey and took out my own cigarette, lighting it and looking back at George.
“Everyone is coming to the compound tomorrow,” King noted quietly so only I could hear. “If we get the information we need tonight, we can send people out by tomorrow night.”
I nodded and walked to the side of the room, sliding a bucket under a water spigot, the icy droplets making me know that this would work perfectly. Once it was full, I took it over to the kid and grabbed a wooden chair, dragging it so I could sit in front of him. I wasn’t even the one who normally handled stuff like this—King was usually far better at extracting answers—but I had a considerable amount of frustration coursing through me right now, so even if all I did was get to beat him up a little bit, it would make me feel far better.
I dumped the bucket of ice cold water over him and stepped back, inhaling on my cigarette and watching the kid wake up, nearly falling out of his fucking chair as he gasped like he was drowning and tried to… well, honestly, I had no idea what he was trying to do because he looked like an idiot.
“George, good to see you,” I offered, taking a sip of my drink. Instantly his eyes were wildly darting around the room, but I knew he couldn’t see more than a few feet, the rest of the room bathed in darkness.
“What the fuck is going on?” he growled, his body shaking in fear and probably in reaction to being cold. Mostly fear, though.
“We just wanted to have a little chat,” I said as I heard King walk forward. “Figured this was the easiest way to get your attention.”
“By kidnapping me from my fucking girlfriend’s bed?” he snarled.
“She was a hired prostitute,” King amended. “Good try though.”
“See, when you lie about shite like that, Georgie, it makes me worried that I can’t trust you. That I am going to have to use influence to get the correct answers that I need out of you.” I sighed as his skin paled to an almost sickly shade. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
“What do you want?” His voice was shaky as he watched me carefully, like I was going to pull a knife out and slit his throat or something. Although… The idea didn’t sound horrible, considering the day I’d had.
“Just some easy answers.” I smiled, causing him to shake even more.
“Where is Ian?” King’s voice wasn’t nearly as relaxed. I didn’t blame him. I think everyone wanted Ian’s blood on their hands at this point. The man better hope for his sake that he died before we found him, because there were plenty of ways to prolong torture. You wouldn’t believe what your body could withstand before giving out.
“I don’t know,” he grunted, his eyes unblinking and seemingly honest.
“I don’t believe you,” I sighed, almost sounding disappointed.
His temper sparked. “Fine, I’m not going to tell you.”
I looked at the knife in King’s hand as he chuckled and walked around George, curious just how angry he was right now and what that meant in terms of how much time I had to question him. I was hoping George broke fast, because King and probably Lincoln would be perfectly happy to take out their anger on him. I had some frustration to work out as well, but I had to be honest, I would have rather done it in bed with my baby girl.
“Are you positive that’s your answer?” King asked, his smile growing as George jumped, the chair almost flipping over because he hadn’t realized he was behind him.
“Yes,” he snarled. “I’m not giving my brother up to you fucking bas— Fuck!”
I relished in George’s cry as King took the thin, small dagger in his hand, a signature line with a gold and emerald grip that we kept down here for this specific reason, and sank it into his hand. I watched as the knife sliced through his flesh and embedded itself into the wood of the chair beneath his palm. Blood began to seep from the wound, dripping down onto the basement floor where there were already plenty of stains.
I blinked, realizing that George was crying and whimpering as King continued to ask him the same question again.
“Fuck you, no.” He bit back a cry as another blade sank into his other hand, making me wonder if I had underestimated this kid. We were two knives in and he was still holding out. Although I had a feeling not for long, considering sweat was drenching his body along with blood and the slight scent of piss. Fucking wonderful.
“George,” I chided as King walked away to get more knives, his shirt splattered with blood that had spewed from the injuries, “we don’t want to hurt you. Your brother is a piece of shite, and you know it. Just tell us when you last saw him. It’s a simple question.”
His breathing was rough as his jaw clenched, his eyes closed. “Yesterday morning. I saw him fucking yesterday.”
“And what was your interaction with him?” I asked curiously, tapping my cigarette against the chair and watching the ashes fall onto the cement floor, acting bored of this conversation.
George’s eyes widened as King came back holding several more knives, inspiring him to talk faster. “He appeared at our estate, grabbed some shit and left. Wouldn’t tell me where he’d been.”
That rang true.
I hummed and nodded. “And where do you think he went?”