Page 84 of Any Means Necessary

And he’s bleeding.

“Please help me, this man is a maniac.” The bleeding man’s eyes on me are pleading, and a wave of guilt washes over me. He looks so nice, so normal. Still in a shirt and tie, the older man looks like he was snatched on his way home from his office job as an accountant. A pair of wire rim glasses lay broken on the floor near his feet.

Blood stains the man’s dress pants where long metal nails have been brutally hammered into his thighs. A metal clamp clipped to each nail leads wires connected to something that resembles a car battery covered in dials on the table where Roscoe stands a few feet away. Bloody fingernails that have been truly removed neatly line a metal tray with the other instruments of torture, making me cringe.

“Again.” At Callum’s command, Roscoe cranks the dial on the battery. The man convulses as electricity shoots through him, his jaw clenching so tightly I swear I hear his teeth crack. The veins in his neck protrude and his back arches against the chair like he’s being yanked backwards. No sound comes out of him, instead it seems like the life is being sucked from his body.

Roscoe lets up after an excruciating long moment, and his eyes begin to roll back into his head. As soon as the electricity is no longer coursing through him, he slumps like a puppet with cut strings. His head falls forward as he loses consciousness and I step forward to feel for a pulse.

“His heart stopped,” I announce.

“Give him what’s in that syringe,” Callum instructs, motioning for Roscoe to step back so I can get to the small table. Avoiding the fingernails and other assorted cartilage scattered on the different trays, I lift the predosed syringe to read the label.

“This is undiluted adrenaline.” It’ll get the man’s heart beating again, but at what cost?

“I’m aware.” Callum’s not in any mood to coddle me. “You’re here to do a job, Lexie.”

Holding the syringe at a 90 degree angle, I push the long needle straight down into the man’s thigh until I hit muscle, and press down the plunger until the full dose of adrenaline has been injected from the barrel. After several seconds that feel like forever, the man’s head lifts with a pained gasp of air. His chest heaves, skins so pale he looks like death warmed over.

“Good job, Doc.” Callum’s praise falls flat. “Now step back so Roscoe can get back to work.”

“Is that really necessary?” Callum’s eyes move to me at the soft words, a ruthless unfeeling glint in his gaze. The eyes of a killer. Apprehension washes over me, goosebumps raising along my arms. He turns back to the man, his voice cold.

“My nurse here doesn’t think you deserve to be in so much pain. But you and I both know exactly what you deserve.”

“Fuck you.”

“Why don’t we tell her who you really are under that cheap suit. What’s in the container, Jimmy?” Callum asks, his voice laced with venom.

“Just merchandise.”

“What kind of merchandise?” Another zap, more teeth cracking and groaning. “Say it.”

“Girls.” The answer makes my stomach drop like a ball of lead.

“What kind of girls, Jimmy? Be specific.”

“You know what kind.”

“I want to hear you say it out loud. Come on, tell me what kind of a man you are. What kind of girls are in that container?”

“Underage girls.”

“Little girls.” Callum's tone turns absolutely lethal. “I have no problem with the sex trade, Jimmy. If women want to be paid for sex, that’s none of my business. But little girls, stolen from their families and forced into sex slavery? That is my business. And this time you took the wrong little girl. Because this little girl has parents, parents with money who hired me. And that mistake is going to cost you your life.”

“Fuck you, Russo.”

“You’re a worthless, scum sucking rat, Jimmy. The lowest form of roach that crawls on this earth. People who mess with kids—depraved, sick men like you—aren’t men at all. And even though you don’t deserve it, I’m going to let you choose how you die. If you tell me where the container is, I’ll consider ending you right here, right now. A bullet right between the eyes, quick and easy. But if you decide not to tell me, or worse lie to me, Roscoe’s going to have a field day extracting each organ from your body until your heart gives out. And then we’ll give your daughter the same fate you’ve chosen for Lottie Harris. What’s your daughter’s name again?”

“Lindsay,” Roscoe offers easily.

“Ah yes, little Lindsay. Sweet kid, though a little too friendly. You really should teach her more about stranger danger, especially in your line of work. Does she know what kind of a man you are?”

“Don’t you fucking go near Lindsay,” Jimmy spits.

“Tell me what I want to know and maybe I’ll spare her.” Any other day I’d be sure that Callum is making an empty threat—he wouldn’t hurt a little girl like that. But looking at him right now, I’m suddenly not so sure. Jimmy sees that same brutality residing just beneath the surface too.

“Port of Cartagena.” The words fall from Jimmy’s mouth like he can’t physically hold them in anymore. “The Scorpius. They don’t tell me the container number, but it’s expected in today at 3pm.”

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