“Not yet.”
“Damn, girl. You’re a tough nut to crack. But I will.”
Chapter 13
Cruz
Five Months Ago
Onceuponatime,I was a good man. A decent man.
I heave the heavy chains in my grasp, stepping back as I haul the man up the concrete. Yes. Once upon a time, I was a good man.
But that was before, when my life held meaning, held hope, love, and laughter.
The man screams out, calling for help that will never arrive. His arms dangle from the chains, hooked to a pulley attached to the steel beams running overhead, a monolithic concrete pillar at his back.
Attaching the chains to the hook I installed for just that purpose, I take several steps back, admiring my handiwork. He stares back at me from fifteen feet up, whimpering, eyes flaring wide as I lean down to pick up the sword lying at my feet.
With slow, measured steps, I walk toward him, the pointed end of the sword scraping along the concrete floor with a fear-inducing melody. As I close in on him, his pants turn dark as urine stains them, dripping down the wall to pool at the base of the pillar. I flip the sword upside down so that the sharpened edge points upward, winking up at the man dangling above it. Sliding it into the specially crafted slot in the concrete, I leave about eighteen inches of the blade exposed.
The man, his eyes wide with terror, tracks my every move. Sweat glistens on his brow, steady drops sliding down his face, his lips trembling.
In my mind’s eye, I picture my ex-wife the last time I saw her. My marriage to Maria may have ended in divorce, but it wasn’t an acrimonious one. We stayed friends for the sake of our four-year-old daughter, Penelope. My heart clenches in my chest as I remember her. Her huge brown eyes, always crinkled with laughter, her brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. A bundle of energy that always managed to last longer than I could. I squeeze my eyes closed as I remember her final hug before her mom took her home.
I never saw her again. That evening, a violent gang of drug dealers broke into their house. They took turns raping Maria before slaughtering both of them. It was a case of mistaken identity; their target lived just across the street.
The target that vanished that night, never to be seen again.
Wrestling my thoughts back to the present, I lock eyes with my victim. He knows where she is. Where she’s hiding. She holds the secret to who ordered the hit on her. The one that killed my baby girl. And when I find the man that ordered it, he will wish his mother had swallowed him instead.
“I’m going to make this extremely simple for you to understand,” I say with a calmness that belies the thumping of my heart. “You have information I want. You are going to give it to me.”
He stares back at me, fear fighting with defiance on his face. He spits at me, eyes narrowing. “I ain’t no snitch,” he jeers in a desperate attempt to appear tough. Seems he’s forgotten that he’s already pissed himself, giving away his terror.
“I placed my sword into the pillar, a few feet below you,” I reply, stepping around the glob of spit on the floor. Moving over toward the hook, I unlatch the chain, letting him slip down the wall an inch or two. Just enough to shake him up. “Every thirty seconds that you don’t answer me, I’m going to drop you down. When you reach the red line that’s marked on the pillar, your time will be up.”
“And then what?” he sneers at me.
A dark chuckle works its way out of me. “Then,” I say, a malicious smile spreading across my face, “well, then I let go of the chain. And you will plummet down, landing on the sword.”
His face turns white, his throat working to swallow against the lump of anxiety threatening to close it off.
I bring my eyes to his, letting him see how serious I am.
“Where is Lucretia Delmont?” His nostrils flaring is the only sign he gives, but it’s enough. I knew I had the right man.
He says nothing, so I drop him half a foot down the wall, and he gasps before he can stop himself. He keeps his mouth firmly closed. Disappointing.
I ask, again and again, his feet edging closer and closer to the red line.
“Time’s up,” I announce, getting bored with this game. “This is the final time I will ask. Tell me where she is, and I will spare your life.”
His face is now drenched with sweat, rivulets running down his neck, dampening his shirt. I rattle the chain and he flinches, the defiance leaving his eyes.Finally.Hanging his head, he forces me to come closer as he whispers the address, defeat showing clearly in the dejected set of his shoulders.
I haul him back up the wall, to the second mark that I didn’t tell him about. I don’t tell any of them about it. Relief washes across his face, which quickly turns to disbelief and betrayal when I hold my arm out, dropping the chains. I live for that look. His eyes are clenched shut, a scream tearing from his lips as he plummets down the wall. The sword is perfectly placed to slice into his groin, up into his intestines, coming to a stop when it gets stuck in his rib cage. His scream turns into a garbled groan, blood gushing from his mouth as he chokes on it.
That second mark, the one I don’t mention in my interrogations? Well, that’s the height a body needs to be at in order for my sword to do its magic. The red line doesn’t serve any purpose at all; just a little mind game I play. Let them think they have time to avoid answering me, let them think they have a chance. When in reality, they have none at all.
