“Anything?” Chance asked Dylan Hawthorne. Hawthorne made a noise that made Chance’s hairs on his arms stand up.
“Calvin Dean is bad news. Don’t know how he keeps evading jail time, but the asshole is. Dean’s worse than Santos by a mile,” Hawthorne said, and Chance frowned. Santos had been a pain in Rage’s ass.
“Hit me,” Chance said quietly.
“Dean is suspected of no less than fifteen murders and has skated on each one. The usual shit, racketeering, drugs, arms, pussy. But he’s dark. No woman who’s ever got involved with him has been seen since. Five women are attributed to have been murdered by Dean. He’s got a reputation that not even rivals will challenge him.
Dean has a henchman, Robespierre, who’s even darker. The man worked for several Russian mobs as their pain man. Little is known about him, except he gets off on torturing victims and is obsessed with knife work. A victim turned up accredited to Robespierre, a female who was never identified as she was headless, and any identifying markings had been sliced off. The girl had suffered a week’s worth of torture by the coroner’s estimation. The girl died hard and screaming,” Dylan said quietly.
“And these assholes have Thalia. She’s already lost a finger,” Chance muttered and explained what had been happening.
“I’m rolling a team to you now; you’ll need back up,” Hawthorne said.
“Thanks, Hellfire can handle this,” Chance said.
“No doubt Hellfire can handle this, but you want Thalia found within the next twelve hours, or she’ll be permanently scarred,” Dylan said. Chance hesitated and then accepted the offer. Every man looking helped.
The following hours dragged by before they were startled by a knock at the door. They opened it to find a young teenager holding out a package. Chance took it as Bear grabbed the boy.
“Where did you get this from?” Bear growled.
“A man gave it to me down the street and told me to bring it here,” the teen answered, scared. Rain gazed at the lad.
“Trey lives on the corner; he’s got nothing to do with it. Hey Trey, take this twenty,” Rain said, handing out a note.
“Thanks, Mr Rain,” the boy said, gazing suspiciously at Chance and Bear before running off.
“What’s Dean sent this time?” Rain asked tiredly. He was worried about Thalia, it was hard relating to her as a sister, but the woman had made sure he was safe while offering herself up. Rain owed her for that. Chance opened the box and removed the note. Bear stared, horrified, at the box and then bent over and vomited.
“Is that…” Rain broke off in horrified shock.
“A nipple that’s been burnt off,” Chance said, swallowing hard. Dear God, what was Thalia suffering?
???
I walked gingerly towards the door the asshole pointed at. My torture had stopped several hours ago, and I wondered what new things were waiting for me behind the door. The asshole had forced me into a dress too big for me that rubbed harshly against the wound where my nipple had been. My torturer opened the door, and I saw Dean sitting at a candlelit table with two plates of food in front of him. I stumbled in, trying to walk on the sides of my feet. The asshole had whipped them to a bloody mess several hours ago.
“There you are,” Dean said cheerfully, and I blinked at the surrealness of his attitude. Could he not see the bloody mess I was? “Take a seat, dear Thalia.” I froze. Not once had they asked my name, so they’d discovered who I was.
“What do you want?” I whispered harshly. Dean glowered, and I stumbled to the chair. For some reason, Dean was being friendly. I didn’t want to push him to hurt me again. Not that Dean had, but he’d watched me screaming and begging while his friend hurt me.
“Would you like wine?” Dean asked solicitously as the asshole took up a stance behind me. I dithered over it; wine may dull my pain but then also dull my wits.
“May I have water, please?” I asked. Darkness swept through Dean’s eyes again, and I went to retract my statement.
“Of course, I imagine you’re thirsty.” Dean rose to his feet, poured a glass of water, and placed it just out of my reach. I wondered whether to reach for it or if it was a trap when Dean chuckled, and I guessed he’d read my thoughts. Dean pushed it towards me, and I took it with a shaking hand and drank deeply. Dean’s eyes narrowed on my bandaged hand, and a smirk crossed his face.
“How do you feel?” Dean asked, and I gazed at him in stupefied shock. “I imagine you’re in quite a bit of pain.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, holding his gaze. This man was a psychopath.
“Well, please enjoy your meal; you need to keep up your strength,” Dean smiled, and I gasped. Dean pushed a plate over to me, and I saw potatoes, steak, and vegetables on it. “Enjoy, enjoy.”
“Thank you,” I said, keeping a wary gaze on him. I picked up my fork in my left hand and stabbed a green bean.
“Tut-tut Thalia, I thought you were brought up a lady. Use the knife and fork,” Dean chided. Pain crossed my face as I swapped hands and then picked up the knife with my left. The fork lay heavy across my hand, and I struggled to eat.
“A lady with manners is worth more than a comment tart,” Dean said, and I choked on a potato.