Page 59 of Cruel Master

“You bitch!” she shrieked.

Sweat dripped down my back as I stared up at her. Something wet touched my forehead and slithered down between my eyes and over the bridge of my nose. A droplet of her blood? Or had I broken my own skin? It didn’t matter.

“Remember what Dad always said?” I asked as I glared back at her, shaking with rage. “Whatever you do in this life, there is always a price to pay. I hope you’re ready to pay it, Jackie, because it’s coming for you. As soon as I get out of here, you’re as good as dead.”

Jackie’s hands lowered, and for the first time, I saw the extent of my damage. Her nose was definitely broken—it was askew from her usually perfectly done-up face. Blood trickled from both nostrils, smearing over her lips and down her chin. She growled and turned, stomping to the man against the wall.

“Knife!” she practically screamed.

When the man didn’t seem to move fast enough for her, she shrieked in frustration and slapped him before delving into his pocket and yanking out a pocket knife before kicking him right in the balls. I winced as the man crumpled to the floor. The poor bastard was little more than a punching bag for her rage. Every man in the room seemed to go rigid at Jackie’s actions and tension filled the space within the four walls.

If she were aware, Jackie didn’t show it. Instead, she flipped open the knife she’d stolen and stalked back to me. The blade slammed into my shoulder with shocking speed. The air in my lungs came out in a rush as I choked and hissed through the pain. Yanking it out again, Jackie went to stab me again and was stopped by the man she’d kissed.

“If you don’t want her to die too soon, then I recommend you let me take care of the rest,” he said.

Jackie’s chest heaved, her breasts rising and falling in rapid succession. She was flushed from her face down to the tops of her tits. Blood trickled from the wound she’d given me, soaking into the faded hoodie I still wore. It felt like my shoulder was on fire. I bent my head and breathed through my nose. Tears threatened to spill over my lashes, but I sucked them back, refusing to give her even that satisfaction.

I was different than I had been five years ago. I was stronger. I was far better than she ever would be. I repeated that mantra in my head as I heard the man say something else to her. Whatever it was was lost on me as I focused on not crying. Jackie’s response, however, was loud and clear.

“I want it to hurt,” she cried. “Make it hurt, Blade. I want her to suffer!”

“Of course.” Blade looked from Jackie to me as I lifted my head, and as I stared back at him, I realized he was not Gaven. They might have both been killers, but this man had no attachment to me and no reason not to follow Jackie’s commands. He nudged Jackie towards the door. “Go get your nose fixed up,” he said. “I’ll take care of her.”

Jackie’s hand clapped over her face as if she’d forgotten her broken nose. She flinched as she accidentally bumped it. The look she cut my way would have set me on fire if it burned any hotter with hatred. “I have to go make sure Gaven doesn’t show up on my doorstep again,” she said, her voice slightly muffled but still every bit as resentful. “Make sure she’s dead, Blade. When I return, I either want to hear screams or nothing.”

“You should have taken care of the man before,” Blade replied, but as he stepped forward, he reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a small pouch—it looked almost like a roll-up shaving kit.

Jackie snapped her fingers and gestured for the remaining men to follow her out. The man on the floor, clutching his dick and balls, groaned but got to his feet and limped after the rest of them.

Blade didn’t move until the door clicked shut behind him and only then did he stride across the room to the desk slightly behind me. I turned my head, gritting my teeth as the movement stretched my skin down my neck and subsequently my wounded shoulder. Setting the small satchel he’d withdrawn, I watched as he unrolled it.

Instead of shaving supplies—not that I’d really thought it’d contained something so mundane—the bag revealed several sharp-looking knives and tools. I was not so naive that I didn’t know what they were for—they were instruments of torture. Fuck. I had to figure out how to get out of this and soon or else Jackie would get her wish.

“Your sister is quite the hot-tempered woman,” the man said, almost casually. Selecting one particularly wicked-looking knife, the man held it up and twisted it in his grip as he admired the polished metal.

I inhaled sharply. “She’s only going to drag you down with her,” I cautioned him. “You should stop while you can—my husband—”

“Yes, she told me all about your husband. Mrs. Price—or should I refer to you as Belmonte?” Blade turned to me and moved around until he was standing in front of me.

I stiffened and cried out as he set the very tip of his knife into the top of my bare thigh and dragged it downward, cutting a perfect line down the center of my upper leg. Blood welled up and slid down either side. I panted, gasping for breath.

“Since your husband is much like me—or at least in the same business—you’ll understand then that this isn’t personal.” The knife pulled away from one thigh and touched the other one. “If you tense, it’ll make it hurt more,” he warned right before he performed the same cut.

“Fuck!” The curse slipped out. He was right—tensing definitely made it hurt like a bitch. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the need to cry. I’d done a lot of things in the past five years, been put into a lot of different situations, but I’d never been tortured. I wasn’t confident in my ability to hold out until I figured a way out, and I was starting to wonder if I ever would get out.

In the back of my mind, Jackie’s earlier words echoed back to me. Something about Gaven coming here … was he still here? If he were, there was no fucking way he’d let this happen. Even if he was pissed at me for running away again, Gaven was nothing if not possessive. He would want to punish me himself, and certainly not like this, not when I was still considered the key to his success and desires.

After the second cut, I started to realize why Blade went by that name. He was adept with them. More than adept; with each cut, he seemed to fill with life. His eyes heated as he crouched before me and watched the blood drip down my inner thighs. My stomach cramped. My head pounded. My shoulder fucking throbbed.

“Even if you’re a hitman,” I said through clenched teeth, “you should understand that working for the wrong people can get you targeted. My husband’s going to fucking kill you for this.”

Blade blinked and looked up at me, almost annoyed by my disturbance of his entertainment. He sighed and straightened. The man towered over me, all dark shadows and furrowed brow.

“Your sister is obsessed with things that don’t matter,” he said. “If your husband doesn’t kill her, then I will eventually.”

The admission shocked me. “Wow.” I huffed. “You're quite cold for a man who just had his tongue down her throat.”

He shrugged. “Just because I have every intention of getting rid of the woman, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy what she so easily offers in the meantime.”

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