“I ain’t ashamed of my body,” Blaze answers. “And if it weren’t so fucking cold in here, maybe I’d stay this way, just to show you what real confidence looks like. But I don’t think the heating system works in this fleabag hotel, and that really puts a damper on things for hot-blooded guy like me.”
“Stop your yammering about shrinkage and put some fucking clothes on, Blaze,” Mack snaps.
While Blaze leaves to go retrieve his clothes from across the street, Mack and I get to work. We soften Silas with a few punches, until he’s nice and pliable, and then we drag him into the bathroom and tie him up in the bathtub. Being in the same room with this son of a bitch and thinking about the threats he’s made against Addie has my blood boiling.
As soon as we have him bound and gagged, I turn to Mack.
“Let he have this one, brother. Alone.”
“Yeah? You having one of your moods, Snakey boy?” He says. There’s a little concern in his voice. “Because we need him alive. At least until he answers our questions.”
“I’m in control, Mack. Trust me. I got this.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be right outside if you need me, brother.”
The door shuts behind him and I reach down to my ankle and draw out the knife I’ve carried with me since my time in the Army. It feels good to take it out, to know that I will put it to work defending my club, my family, and the woman waiting back at the clubhouse who has her dainty fingers wrapped around my dark heart.
I take a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
Run the tip of the knife across Silas’ cheek. Summon up the black part of me I so often fight to keep buried. The part that hungers to do unspeakable things. The part that only goes quiet when I hold Addie in my arms.
This man tried to take that away from me.
He’s going to suffer like he can’t even imagine.
Silas flinches beneath the knife’s caress. It’s subtle, nearly invisible, but I’ve come up against enough guys like him to know when they’re on the edge. And Silas Cooper is trapped in the worst kind of hell he could ever imagine: he’s trapped here with me — a devil wearing the scarred skin of a battle-worn vet.
“You’re in a fucking mess of trouble, Silas. Oh boy, are you ever going to suffer.”
I press the tip just a little harder, enough to draw the laziest drop of blood.
“You went after my family. You thought you could fucking touch the woman I love. Big fucking mistake,” I say. “I’m going to have some fun with you. And you’re not going to like it.”
The tip goes in a little further. More pressure. I’m halfway through his cheek. Just a little harder and I’ll be grinding the tip of this knife against his molars.
“I have little in this world. If I’m being honest with you, I came out of the army pretty fucked up and things haven’t gotten much better for me since. Maybe I’m too damn broken to be put back together. That’s usually what happens when you see your best friend get his head blown off and you eat a bunch of shrapnel from a fucking IED. Every day, I see his face. Every day, I hear his voice. Every day, the shockwave of that bomb blast echoes through my body. The only glue holding the shattered pieces of my life together is that beautiful woman you tried to kidnap and those men out there I call my brothers. You threaten that.”
I work his face over more with the knife. Little cuts, slices that function as previews of the pain to come.
“Now it’s my job to cut those secrets about where your uncle and your brother are hiding out of you. I take my job seriously, Silas. And I’m going to enjoy cutting you to pieces.”
I have to give him credit. Other than a dilation in his pupils, Silas has hardly reacted to my knife.
He’s tough. He’s trained.
But he’s about to learn what pain really is.
I drive the knife in deeper, to his teeth, till blood spills over the edge of my blade like a crimson waterfall. He doesn’t move, doesn’t struggle — much — because he knows any movement would drive the knife in further.
But boy, does he scream against his gag.
It’s music to my ears.
This is what will happen to anyone who thinks they can touch Adella Stone.
Slowly, I draw the blade out.
There’s now a two-inch hole in his right cheek.
Beneath the dripping blood, I can see his clean white teeth. The man flosses regularly.
“Here’s the deal, Silas: you and your buddies traumatized the one woman who doesn’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster. Now, she’s not always right — I can be a monster when I have to. Like right now. When I need to cut those secrets out of your mouth,” I say, and I move the tip of the knife over to the other side of his mouth and start the same process all over again. “And that’s what I’m going to do. I will keep cutting until you decide the holes in your face are wide enough for your secrets to come out. Got it?”
It’s wicked work. The bloody business that taps into the darkest, most battle-twisted parts of my soul. It’s not long before his screams echo in the tight confines of this dirty bathroom, spilling out around his gag through the dripping holes in his mouth.
He holds out for a long time. He’s big, he’s tough, and he’s loyal to his blood. But eventually, I drain enough out of
