Page 71 of His Pretty Little Duet

I stare at Jake. He will get his turn soon enough—after watching, hearing, knowing what is to come. What I'll be taking from him piece by piece.

The boy's wide white eyes follow my every move, glued to me like a tether—like prey watching a predator waiting for the moment it lunges for their jugular.

“You’re... you’re not going to kill us?” Landon says, his voice is knotted with breathless hysteria. “That isn’t... that doesn’t really happen here."

The hooves and calls of cattle passing by the abattoir wall cause him to jerk in place, pursuing the sound. “Have you ever been to an abattoir before?” I ask. “My family owns five across the greater Western Australia region. It was the first business my old Don bought when he came here from Sicily. We like our meat. Sicilians, that is... Do you know who Fawn is?”

“I didn’t know...” Fierce sobs break from Landon's trembling lips as he shakes his head over and over. “We didn’t know.”

“She is the daughter of a boss in the District,Cosa Nostra.” I stop circling him. Stop behind him. “You raped the daughter of a very dangerous man.”

He yelps as I squat behind him, flinching away from me, even though I’ve barely breathed on him. When I cut the cable ties at his wrists, he freezes. Whimpers. Doesn't even try to escape.Pity.I would've loved hunting him down like the animal he is.

Making my way over to a chair, I pull the light metal seat to him until our closeness is intimate. I sit down, my knees a meagre inch from his, his stench seeping from his slick skin like waves of tangible adrenaline and endorphins.

His hands are no longer fastened behind his back, but he hasn’t moved them.

I stare impassively into his petrified brown irises. Then glance over at Jake, panting around his gag. “I’m going to tell you a secret, boys. Fawn’s father betrayed me. My father. My family. When I find him, I’m going to order his execution. As ismyright, and mine only.” I tsk. “But he is still a made-man, and in my world, that stands for something.” I set the pliers down on my knee so I can retrieve the cigar tin from inside my jacket pocket. When I light the cigar, drawing in the silken smoke, his alarmed gaze drops to my knee. To the sharp pliers. “It has to stand for something,” I say around the sweet clouds.

“More than that though,” I continue. “You touched my property. You did not have permission. And you made her cry, bleed, and put a baby in her young womb.”

"It's not mine!" Landon cries. "I'm not. I can’t be."

I still. My eyes flick to Jake, basking in his terror, before going back to Landon. "And how would you know that?"

"I couldn't finish. Not with them watching. I didn't want them to know—I didn’t want them to know, so I just pretended to come."

"Interesting."

"Oh. God.Don’t kill me!"

"God is on my side, boy. And you have tasted her, felt her inside, and that is damn unacceptable.” I look at his eyes—misted in shock, glued to the tool on my knee. “Take the pliers.” His gaze darts around the empty processing room, landing on Jake, then Vinny, and finally Bronson. Bronson grins, a dimple poking into the side of his menacing smile. I soften my eyes onthe boy, the intent inside orderly, disturbing, punishment. "Take the pliers, Landon.”

As he swallows, his throat rolling, he brings his shoulders forward, wincing through the atrophy. The bowed limbs, tight and sluggish, would ache. The sliced flesh at his wrists would sting.

With a shaky hand, red raw from fighting against the plastic tie, he takes the pliers from my knee. Drawing them quickly to him, he clutches them like a crucifix to his chest.

His savour.

Not likely.

I lean back in my chair, sucking on the cigar. “Now use the pliers.” With each syllable, his panting becomes harsher, his lax form shaking under the extreme panic thrashing through his body. “Take your cock out.” Guttural whimpers vibrate up his throat. “Remove it.” His head drops forward, tears streaming down his face, filling his mouth. “And I might let you live.”

While he sobs hysterically into his lap, Vinny rounds him, appearing over his shoulder. Reaching around his throat, he applies the sharp edge of a knife to his sweat misted flesh. Light runs along the clean metallic surface as Vinny presses the silver blade to Landon's rolling throat.

The boy freezes in horror. Slowly, he lifts his chin to recoil from the invasion. “No. No. No. No,” he pleads while the knife lightly grates his throat over the vibrations his words cause. “Wait. No. I’ll do it.” He fumbles with his zipper, not looking down—no, he is locked on my eyes as I blow another heavy white cloud, hazing the air surrounding us. The knife drags an inch across his throat. Crimson blankets in rivulets from the warning incision. “No!” He grabs hold of his cock, howls in agony, preparing to do it, but his fist shakes violently around the pliers. He doesn't move.

He closes his eyes, sobbing, defeated.

"Are you sorry for what you have done?" I ask. "Are you sorry for hurting her? You won't be raping anyone again, will you? Tell me you're sorry, my boy. Tell me how sorry you are."

"God," he bellows, opening his eyes—red, raw saucers in a bloodless face. "I'msosorry. I'll never even look at a girl again. I'll never?—"

I throw my cigar to the ground. "Good boy." I smile, and nod at his fatty flaccid shaft. "Now show me how sorry you are. Prove you'll never do it again. Show me you deserve this, and it'll all be okay," I say smoothly. His eyes become vacant, lost in the trauma. "It's okay. You can do this, my boy. If you do it fast it won't hurt as much. We'll fix you up and send you on your way and you'll get through this."

I watch.

Vinny waits.

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