Page 35 of Lethal

My brow lifts in a silent question. One he ignores as he closes the distance between us and turns the man around. There’s an angry set to our captive’s face. It’s clear he’s determined to deny us anything we may want from him, even before he knows what it is. Even his questions were self-serving, wanting to know where he may have fucked up before we kill him. What he doesn’t know, though, is my men are well versed in the arts of extracting information, and they have a fondness for passing their knowledge on to me. This won’t be something they give up on or rush through.

Cole remains focused on whatever he’s doing. His gaze narrows on the man’s face and he makes a show of uncapping the permanent marker. His hand slowly brings the pen toward him and our captive eyes it warily the closer it gets. When Cole is only a few inches away, the man jerks his head back, his foot stepping in the same direction simultaneously. He clearly forgot he’s already pressed against the wall, with nowhere to go, and cracks his head against the hard surface.

With no other options, his arms also try to jerk in front of him to stop Cole’s approach, but the handcuffs keep him from moving them. There’s no way for him to prevent the incoming marker from drawing on the side of his cheek. The same area I ran my finger along is quickly circled, and my psycho boyfriend seems to find immense joy in the simple task. “I don’t want to forget.”

“Forget what?” the man can’t help but ask, his eyes wide as he watches Cole carefully.

A twinkle enters Cole’s eyes as if he tricked the man into asking the question. “I’m so glad you asked,” he drawls, stepping in front of me and pinning me in place with his glare. “I didn’t want to forget the place where my sweet obsession failed to remember herself and decided to touch you. I’ll be getting it back soon enough.”

“Get it back?” the man scoffs. The tone of his voice makes it clear he thinks he’s dealing with an idiot. Little does he know, Cole is one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever met. I suppose it helps that I know exactly what he means by the statement.

In a quick motion, Cole has the jacket he grabbed wrapped around the man’s head. It’s so fast, I didn’t even catch how he did it, but it’s solidly preventing him from seeing anything. The arms get tied behind his head, making it an effective replacement for a sack. Grabbing onto his arm, Cole jerks him out of the room and through the building until we’re once again on the precarious decking.

The creaking that comes along with each footstep has me convinced that any second we could plummet the single story of space below us to the ground. I’m not worried about the fall, but more concerned that someone else will become impaled with a shard of wood. We’ve had enough of that for one day.

A curse paired with stumbling footsteps has my attention whipping from where I’m watching where I walk, to the area in front of me. Cole shoves the man in front of him, herding him along as he wildly tries to keep his footing. My psycho doesn’t let up, preventing him from gaining solid ground. He does it the whole way until we reach the area where the stairs are blown off and the railing is hanging by a single nail.

Another solid thrust has the man stumbling forward and tipping over the edge. Okay. Maybe it’s acceptable for him to get stabbed with a shard. Cole tilts his head back and lets loose a laugh. The sound fills me with an odd sense of warmth. His hand darts out, and before it even meets the support below him, his feet go over the side. With a push of his arm when it lands, he gracefully catapults himself to the ground.

Fucking hell, he’s a gorgeous sight.

I rush as quickly as I dare to the edge to find Cole standing next to the man, hands on his hips as he stares at the crumpled lump on the ground. A sneer tugs at his lips before it’s wiped completely clean as his gaze turns to me, a smile replacing it. He holds his arms out to help me down like I weigh nothing at all.

Our fronts graze as he lowers me to the ground, but instead of letting him return me to my feet, I wrap my legs around his waist. When I started killing, I never could’ve foreseen how much it turns me on to have a partner, much less four. But now that we’re here, I couldn’t imagine a life where I didn’t indulge in my darkest desires with the men I’ve claimed as mine. It’s true what they say. The couple that plays together stays together.

Perhaps it should be the couple that slays together...

His hands land on my ass, and his nose nuzzles into my neck. Taking in a deep breath, his entire body seems to relax on the exhale. My hands instinctively run through his hair, the short strands tickling my palms until I reach the longer ones on the top of his head where I fist a handful.

Using the grip I have on him, I tilt his head and watch as amusement dances across his gaze. He comes willingly when I tug him to me, sliding my tongue over his lips and into his mouth, devouring him, not able to wait a second more. Cole groans, but my kiss smothers the sound.

All too quickly, we separate. I’m not even out of breath, and yet my lips tingle for more of his tantalizing affection. “We need to save this for later, Luv. Because once I start, I won’t want to stop, and we simply don’t have the time for it at the moment.”

He’s right, I know he is, yet I don’t like how the tables have turned so quickly from me denying him, to him doing it to me. I narrow my gaze, a cutting remark on the tip of my tongue, but I’m caught off guard when he presses a light kiss to the tip of my nose and sets me on my feet once more.

When I don’t move right away, he smirks, hands landing on my hips, where he squeezes painfully, turning me around with a slap to my ass. “Get our weapons bag and meet me at the boat before you distract me anymore.” The tone of his voice adds more to his words, though. He’s done with letting me be in charge. My stalker has had enough of being tested, taking full control over being Ravenmaster once more.

All three of them seem to don the mantle at different times. It’s easy to see now that I know. A much gentler shove than the one he used on our captive sends me on my way. The urge to fight against his wishes makes my footsteps slow and hesitant, but the voices of my other three men reach me. It won’t be long before they, too, will be ready to leave, and it’s not like there isn’t a threat of us being under attack again.

Throwing a scathing glare over my shoulder, I make my way to the duffle bag not far away. The other is draped over Vander’s shoulder. The bag is surrounded by chunks of wood, and a few of the weapons it used to hold are strewn around it, having been thrown from the bag in the blast. I make quick work of putting them away before hauling the laden duffle onto my shoulder and making my way toward the boat we left sitting on the edge of the property.

My men are already there, working on loading the pilfered tech, weapons, and captive over the side. Overall, I think we can say this was a successful strike. We got what we came for, at least partially. Now it’s time for the fun part. The part where I get to torture and kill a man with my stalkers.

Chapter 16

Raven

The location Cole secured for us is little more than a glorified barn. It’s one large empty room. No bathroom. No conveniences. It’s a whole lot of nothing.

Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but not by much. The room came with a metal chair and a couple of sturdy wooden benches to display our tools. The only additions have been the things we’ve brought along with us, and whatever Vander and Grayson come back with. They took the airboat out a few hours ago.

We’ve been here for a day, and the only source of entertainment has been torturing our captive. My men have reveled in taking turns teaching me several methods of extracting information. We’ve barely given the hostage a break. Putting his body to the test, pushing it to the farthest limits. We only took a slight intermission to make sure we don’t overextend him too soon.

A groan sounds from across the room, our captive stirring in his passed out state. I watch him, waiting to see if he’ll come to or if it’s a sound made involuntarily. Cole was the last one to lay his hands on him. He’s been working him hard, having his fun as he burns through his frustrations. The captive’s head lulls against his chest and after a moment of silence, I carry on with my train of thought.

One of the first things Cole did when we got here was methodically lay out the instruments we brought along. It was so precise, I couldn’t help but remember the kill room Ravenmaster let me use in DC. Now as I’m thinking about it again, I’m not sure why I didn’t ask who the room belongs to. “You remember the playroom where I killed Grayson’s dad?” I ask Cole.

He glances up from sharpening his filet knife, a gleam in his eyes as he recalls the coffin, nails, and hammer. The knife barely makes a sound when he gently puts it back on the table, giving me his undivided attention. I’m surprised my question distracts him enough to discard it. He’s been fixated on the damn thing since he skinned the cheek off our captive. He meticulously cleaned it free of all the blood and moved on to making sure it’s sharp enough to split a hair.

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