Page 3 of The Beautiful Dead

I laughed, the sound completely void of warmth. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

I leaned in, my breath ghosting against his sweat-damp skin. His shudder made a smirk strain my lips.

“Everything is personal.”

His face crumpled as the truth sank in.

I knew everything. Nothing he could say would change that. Watching him process it was like witnessing a car crash in slow motion—inevitable, brutal.

I pulled my switchblade from my jacket, the wolfs head handle gleaming under the dim light. The blade caught the glow, sharp and unforgiving. He whimpered, his entire body going rigid.

Good.

“Your officers arrested six of my men,” I said, my tone devoid of emotion, as if discussing the weather. “Six of my soldiers are rotting behind bars because you decided to play hero.”

I scraped the tip of the blade down his neck, tracing the delicate line of his carotid artery.

“You think you can interfere in my business and just walk away?” I murmured. “You seem to have forgotten who you work for, who truly holds the power in Marlow Heights,Chief.”

His lips trembled. “I-I can fix it. I’ll drop the charges. Please... I?—“

“Shhh.” I pressed the blade against his skin. A thin bloom of crimson welled beneath the pressure. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to play savior and erase the consequences.”

Control.

It thrummed through me, sharpening my senses. Every flinch, every ragged breath, fed something dark and primal inside me. He deserved this. They all did. A lifetime of lies and corruption finally balanced by the edge of my knife as I delivered my retribution.

I gripped his chin, tipping his head back, carving the blade through skin—slow, deliberate, shallow enough to sting but not maim. Blood welled up, glistening as his body spasmed against the restraints.

The music swelled, drowning out his hoarse screams as I dipped a finger into the lemon juice and traced the fresh wound.

“You have children, don’t you?” I asked conversationally.

His chin bobbed in a frantic nod, tears spilling down his face.

“Good.” I smiled. “Then you understand what it’s like to lose something you care about.”

His sobs grew desperate. “Please… I-I’ll do anything…”

“Then tell me—” I tightened my grip. “—why did you break our agreement?”

Rutter squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as much as he could in my grasp.

“Who paid you to raid my shipment?”

He froze. Every muscle in his body went taut. His head twitched in tiny, involuntary shakes, like a puppet with its strings tangled.

Ah. There it was.

The truth—rotting inside him like a corpse, waiting to be unearthed.

“Give me a name.”

“T-there is… n-no?—”

My hand cracked across his face, the wet slap echoing through the room. I wrenched his head back, fingers tangled in his damp hair, bending his neck at an unnatural angle.

“Do you think I’mstupid?” I bellowed, spit flying.

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