Page 48 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“I’m so glad you haven’t changed, Mr. Bennington,” I say casually as I slip the collar around his throat and then reach into the bag for a leash. “It makes this so much easier on me.”

I clip the leash onto his brand-new collar and take a step back. “Do you want us to stay?” one of the men at my back asks.

“As long as everything else is set up, then you can do whatever you want,” I reply.

I tilt my head to the side. “Actually…” I grip the length of rope muffling Andrew’s growling and words as it cuts around his head. “Can you remove this? He needs to be able to talk.”

The man from before steps forward and withdraws a wicked looking pocket knife. He flips it open and steps up, pausing for a second when I assume he realizes that he made the ropes too tight to squeeze the blade beneath.

“I don’t care if you cut him,” I say helpfully. “So long as he can still talk, it doesn’t matter.”

The man nods without looking back and quickly cuts the rope circling Andrew’s head and mouth. “Fuck!” Andrew shouts and when the man steps back, I see there’s a fresh well of blood from a finger length cut along his cheek. “You little bitch!”

“That’s what female dogs are, Andrew,” I say, taking a step back and clasping my hands behind my back. It thrusts my breasts forward and like the pig I know him to be, his eyes immediately go to them. It doesn’t matter that he’s naked in front of two strangers who trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. It doesn’t matter that I drugged him. If he’s got breasts in front of him, he’ll look. It’s a product of his evolution. He can’t help it. “And I suppose that’s what you wanted me to be, right? After all, you used to call me your ‘pet.’”

Andrew shakes his head and seems to come back to himself. He jerks against the ropes tying him to the chair. “What the fuck is this? Did Kincaid put you up to this? I knew he was up to something, but this is too far.”

“Thomas is the reason why you’re here,” I say, “but I wouldn’t exactly say he put me up to it.” I hold out a hand and without asking, the man on my right steps up and hands me the knife he’d used to cut off the mouth knot.

Andrew’s eyes widen and he retracts against the back of the chair as I move forward. “What the hell do you want?” he demands.

“I want to know everything,” I say. “I want every little piece of information you have on Thomas Kincaid and all of the men and women in your little club.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

I grin and lift up my skirt, moving forward as I sling one leg over Andrew’s lap and plop down. “Then I’ll explain it to you,” I say.

Beneath me, Andrew’s cock shifts.Men.I shake my head.How predictable.Not even two minutes in and he’s already got half a chub. I wonder if it hurts more to cut off a man’s dick when he’s hard versus when he’s soft. I doubt Andrew will be able to keep it up in the time it takes, though. I should’ve brought some pills. Oh well, you live and you learn, I suppose.

I set the back of the knife against Andrew’s cheek, pressing it right over the cut and watching as either side parts and fresh blood slips out, dripping down his jaw.

“Motherfucker!” He jerks back. “That fucking hurts!”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that’s the point.” I grip his face with my free hand when he moves to turn away again and ease the pressure on his wound. “You said that Thomas has been absent lately,” I prompt, “and I know for a fact that he’s not in Eastpoint. So, where is he?”

Andrew swallows roughly. “I don’t know.”

I flip the knife over and dig the sharp side of the blade into his cheek. Blood slips over the metal and touches the pad of my fingers, but I don’t stop. He curses and flinches and tries to yank away from me, but all that accomplishes is a longer, deeper cut.

“I don’t like that answer,” I tell him. “I’d prefer the truth.”

“Fuck, it was you, wasn’t it?” Andrew curses instead, surprising me.

I lean back and tilt my head. “It was me what?

“Truman went missing,” he growls. “Everyone assumed he was running from tax evasion, but I know that bastard. No one would’ve found out about that shit if he’d stayed. He had it locked tight. Not even his wife suspected—”

Andrew Bennington has never made me feel anything other than repulsion and hatred, but for the first time, he actually makes me laugh. A true, genuine laugh. One that rumbles up my stomach as I shake my head. It’s loud enough to cut him off and make him look at me with mounting confusion.

My amusement tapers off and I reach up, wiping beneath my eyes as I release his face. “His wife knew everything,” I tell him. “She didn’t care when he disappeared.”

Yvette Truman was all too easily persuaded to help me get rid of him when I showed up on her doorstep with proof of her husband’s affairs, not the least of which included a thirteen-year-old girl. Sometimes, when people can close their eyes and pretend the bad things don’t exist, they can accept it. When you shove their face in it like bad dogs that have peed on the carpet, they change their tune rather quickly.

I redirect my attention. “Just like yours won’t.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“Oh, I would,” I say, cutting him off. “Why would you assume otherwise when you’re the one who just suggested that I’m the one who made Eric Truman disappear?” I arch a brow.

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