Page 96 of Sinful Beauty

Graeme holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. Lucky me, he, like my mother, doesn’t like to do the dirty work himself. If he did, he could’ve blown my brains out.

“There’s a lot you need to explain.”

“You’re making a mistake.” There’s no fear in his words. Did he call for others?

“Am I?”

“You think this ends with me? You think we worked alone?”

I give that some consideration. “No, I don’t believe you did. But I believe you’re smart enough to know that your best play is a plea deal. We want names.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“I’m sure you do. But you see, the men with me aren’t actually here. They’re ghosts. Which means, I get to decide if you live or not. And trust me when I say I’m more than willing to end you.”

He narrows his eyes. “Your mother was just shot. Don’t you want to get her medical care? We can talk later.”

“Funny thing about discovering your mother is behind taking the woman carrying your child. I find myself quite okay with letting her bleed out. I’m also quite right with letting you bleed. By chance, did you hear about your hired man who lost several fingers today?”

His color lightens and perspiration shines on his forehead. It’s about time.

“It seems your mother kept me in the dark.”

“Well, I think it’s time we learn how much you value your digits. We’ll start with the digits, of course. Father raised me to be a gentleman. Ten digits, then onwards to other body parts. I believe near a cottage on the property I saw a centuries old rusted saw. That should work splendidly. Perhaps I don’t even need to mess with the digits. We could just go for efficiency.”

“You’re sick.” The whites of his eyes flash his fear, and that very fear feeds me.

“There are some who would agree with you. Now. Talk.”

He wraps his arms around his waist and stares down at his knees.

I grab his arm and pull him hard out of the vehicle. He falls to the ground and I kick him hard in the ribs. He flails, allowing me a view of his waist and backside. No guns.

I slide my gun into the holster and remove my blade.

“Which finger first?”

Horror shows behind his spectacles. I scan the area, cognizant there are armed men loose.

“Who are you?” Graeme asks.

“You’ve known me since I was a little tyke.”

I smooth a finger over the edge of the blade. Sharp. Clean. Ready.

“Who are you working with? You’re trained.”

“Recognize that, do you? I work for Interpol. My specialty is international crime. And it would seem, so is yours. I’ll give you five seconds. If I don’t get answers, one digit goes. With this…” I hold the blade out so it shines beneath the headlight and the moon, “it’s a swift, easy cut.”

“It was your mother’s idea.”

I’m quite certain he’ll blame everything on the dead.

“You were testing drugs in compounds on prisoners. Speed-to-market, we presume, is the goal.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.

“One pharmaceutical company or multiple?”

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