Page 37 of Broken Princess

“I swear, it was just a few things we ran outside of The Syndicate. A few heists, shipping containers mostly. Nothing big and everything fenced straight away to a black-market buyer. We stored nothing using Syndicate resources.”

What the actual fuck is he talking about?

“I know we’re not supposed to run unsanctioned jobs, but the money was too good to pass up.”

I glance at Aurora. She doesn’t look as confused as I am. She slides off her bench and approaches Carlo. Bending forward, she pats his jawline in a patronising little tapping motion before gripping his chin and tipping his head back to force his eyes to hers. “Should I tell our gullible friend here what you actually used him for?”

Carlo glares back at her, spittle escaping the corners of his mouth, his neck straining as his ire rises. But it’s obvious from the sheen of sweat that’s bursting forth on his brow that he’s not as confident as he’s trying to appear. He has no fucking clue how to play this situation—how to tackle Aurora. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Tony looks more confused than ever and I’m doing my best impression of someone who knows what’s going on. I don’t have the first damn clue at this point, though I’m intrigued to see it play out.

Aurora pulls her phone out of her back pocket and places a call. “Come and pick up Tony. We’re done with him for now.” Ending the call, she turns back to Carlo and smiles. “I underestimated you, Carlo. That won’t happen again.”

“What the fuck is going on? What do you mean, he used me?” When Aurora ignores him, he turns instead to Carlo. “What don’t I know? What’s she talking about?”

“Who else was at these meetings, Tony?” She arches an eyebrow and looks like a mother scolding a sullen child. “Was it just you three? Or were there other Syndicate members present?” His gaze darts down to the floor and he looks sheepish. “Come on, Tony. Whatever happens, you’re fucked six ways from Sunday. Speak.”

“Max would sometimes come,” he says, now looking as baffled as he is petrified.

“Uh-huh,” is all she says as Sin and Benny appear at the door. They enter with speed and precision, gagging and blindfolding Tony, who struggles and whines behind his restraints. They untie and manhandle him out the door. Presumably, they’ll knock him out again and keep him stored in the back of the van.

I’m a little thrown that Aurora has dismissed Tony and gone off script. She must have a valid reason, but we had two toys to play with and now there’s only one. Not. The Fucking. Plan.

I take a few deep breaths and turn to face my work bench. It glistens and gleams, almost overflowing with sharp blades and serrated edges, pliers and bone saws, even my favourite nail gun. There are sewing needles, curved fishhooks, and knuckle dusters. Just a cursory glance over my tools and I’m centred again.

Aurora walks to the side of the room, retrieving another chair, since the one Tony vacated is still dripping wet. She drags it right in front of Carlo and settles back, getting comfortable. I can see that she’s favouring her ankle, but it’s not obvious and she’s doing a fucking excellent job of masking any weaknesses.

“He’s got no fucking clue what he’s involved with, does he? Would make a decent enough patsy though, if shit went sideways,” she ponders out loud and then glances back at me. “They used him so they could meet face-to-face without suspicion. Tony’s crew was probably running fake heists, stealing empty shipping containers. He would leave with his team to run the job; they would stay and chat at the locations he arranged.” She glances at Carlo. “Please, correct me if I’m wrong.”

An icy stare is all the reply she’s granted. It’s obvious he’s galled that she’s worked out Tony’s involvement. I, on the other hand, am fucking impressed she put it together. I mean, I’d have got the same result eventually and would have enjoyed torturing it out of them, but I can’t deny that this is a far more efficient use of our time.

“He kept his mouth shut about the meetings because he thought he was running unsanctioned jobs, while also feeling he was being trusted by senior players. I assume they would have offed him and pinned anything they needed to on him if anything went awry.”

I watch her closely, fascinated by every movement she makes. You can practically see the cogs turning as she mulls over all the possibilities. I can tell when she considers a scenario she thinks has merit. She volleys her head from side to side as she follows her theory to its conclusion. When she reaches a dead end, her head stills and she casts her eyes up, and they bore into Carlo’s in a predatory fashion. His shoulders are still, jaw clenched, and chin jutted out. He’s doing his best to maintain his composure—as much as he can with a ball gag in his mouth—but I can see him faltering under her scrutiny. The muscles in his jaw twitch under the strain, and he swallows hard.

Aurora retreats to her workbench and continues to taunt our guest. She fondles and strokes her slender fingers over the tools as she makes her selection. I quirk a brow as she hums a tune. She’s a dramatic little minx, I’ll give her that. Her penchant for showmanship is intoxicating, and it does nothing to quell my raging hard-on when she emits a little gasp and lights up from within as she makes her selection.

What the fuck is she gonna do with that?

Aurora has picked up what looks like a flogger. Where the hell did she get that? I can only assume Sin has sourced it for her because I sure as shit didn’t. I catch glimpses of something else embedded within the leather tails as she swishes it out from her hip. Don’t ask me how a woman in grey sweats is channelling Catwoman right now, but as she prowls back to Carlo, that’s all I can think of.

Focus, you idiot. I chastise myself, shaking my head and returning my focus back to our target. Aurora leans forward and cocks her head. “This simply won’t do. I need a blank canvas.”

She reaches into her pocket with her other hand and retrieves a switchblade. Flicking it open, she makes a show of rotating the knife to take stock of the blade. With speed and precision, she sweeps the blade across Carlo’s button-down a few times and then rips the front apart, exposing his rotund torso to us.

Not drawing it out, she slices the air with the flogger, and I realise from Carlo’s pained reaction that she’s altered the flogger in some way. Oh, she impresses me.

Every time the ends glide across his skin, minor cuts appear, and it doesn’t take long for dozens of tiny slices to flood with rivulets of blood and drip down his chest. There’s no gushing, he’s not in any danger of bleeding out. His torso just cries dozens of copper scented tears.

Whatever is embedded in her toy must be excruciating because Carlo is grunting against the ball gag. Tears slipping from his eyes, splashing on his chest, and cutting streaks through his agony. I can see the strain in his jaw as he bears down on the silicone ball. His face red and engorged.

I need to know more. Crossing to her, I stare down at her weapon and ask, “May I?”

“Be my guest.” She smirks as she hands over her vicious little implement, unabashedly proud of her invention.

I inspect it thoroughly and soon realise she’s embedded strips of guitar strings between the soft suede strands. “Oh, this is delightful.” I can see her studying me as I review her handiwork and I can see a flash of sadness cross her features, drawing her brows together as if haunted by a memory before she masks her expression again.

“It has its uses,” she deadpans before turning her attention back to Carlo. “But it’s definitely not the main event. Time to warm you up before we can really get going.” Holding out her hand, she crooks her fingers at me, demanding it back before she returns to her table, puts the flogger back in its place and retrieves a pair of G-clamps.

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