Page 45 of King of the Dawn

Chapter Twenty

Jericho

Was I taking my anger out on this poor, defenseless soul? Maybe. I could put him out of his misery and simply eliminate the threat! But what would be the fun in that?

Yuliya twirled a knife in the palm of her hand, casually leaning against a table of instruments. Corbin stared at the metal in her palm, with a smirk on his lips as he undid his tie.

“Glad you called me,” he said to my sister, even as she ignored him. “I’m happy to have helped.”

Yuliya rolled her eyes, stilling the blade in his hand.

“You scared a bunch of staff and police to release him into your custody after you made a phone call.” She finally turned to him with hostility in her eyes. What had happened between them to warrant this? “ Jericho could have done all that himself, pretty boy.”

“But he didn’t, did he?”

He leaned down into her space, despite the two of them being almost the same height.

“What do you want? A fucking cookie?” My sister’s Russian accent always came out when she was feeling aggressive. And it was growing thick now.

I chuckled, and turned my eyes to the reason for my visit in this particular cell of my mansion - the underground basement that was seldom used. There was a drain beneath his feet, which dangled an inch off the ground. He was manacled to the ceiling, the wound on his ribs dripping past the bandage they had placed on him when they saved his life.

It was too bad the hospital staff had wasted their time.

I held a small blade in my hand, as Yuliya and Corbin continued to bicker.

“Come on, why’s it so hard for you to give me a bit of credit, huh?” From my peripheral vision, I saw Corbin tuck a lock of my sister’s hair over her ear. She jerked her head away, avoiding his touch.

“Your ego is inflated enough.” She bared her teeth at him, irritated. “I’m not your mother, or your lover. If you need love, get a hooker.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Or go with one of the many nurses who was fawning over you all the time…”

“Bicker elsewhere,” I barked at them, and the two jumped in surprise.

“Isoveli…” my sister’s voice was low in warning. Warning of what? I wasn’t sure.

“Leave me with the victim,” I ordered, turning my gaze to the two of them before nodding my head at the door. “Leave us. I’ll call when I’m ready to have him… disposed of.”

Strictly speaking, I did not torture for the sake of torture.

I did it to get information, and at times, I would do it to make a point. But I did not do it for simple pleasure. I did not relish taking a human life, even if the notches of my sins were numerous enough to bring down a 100-year-old spruce.

When the bickering pair left the room, the door closing behind them, I looked up at the man who was at the center of my hunt since my engagement. The last of my wife’s tormentors.

I wiped the blade in my hand, as if I was wiping the specks from a pair of old, worn glasses.

Like my sister, a slight Russian accent came out when I allowed the sadism in my blood to come out and play. Sadism made from being born into this life.

“You made a tactical error, when you decided to abuse my wife.”

Brock took in a sharp intake of breath, and shivered. “She wasn’t your wife.”

I smiled. “Oh, but she was, if you believe that these things are fated and ordained by God. If you believe in magic, and witches, as you seem to.”

“She was Alastair’s wife, and he agreed… he said it was okay.”

“If Alastair Green told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?” I asked, using the old words that so many parents lectured their kids over.

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