Page 46 of A Fine Line

I kneel, squeezing her face between my thumb and fingers and twisting her head awkwardly until she whimpers, and a bit of that anticipatory delight in her eyes dulls. “I hope you’re not thinking that I’ll go easy on you because you’re a fucking woman. I’ll take you apart piece by piece the same as any fucking man. You think you like pain, but you’re gonna find out you don’t even know the beginning of pain.”

That light goes out, replaced by nervousness, and I punctuate my statement by showing her my teeth, shoving her face away from me like the trash she is.

I walk back over the man strapped to the chair and ask, “Surely, you remember Vincent.”

His eyes widen, his arrogant demeanor instantly changing, but he says nothing, so I persist. “Dimitri? I hear you’re pretty good pals with those guys.”

He shakes his head, his shoulders lifting as he says, “No one was friends with Vincent and Dimitri. Everyone was their fucking slave until they had no use for you. Their death was something to rejoice over.”

“So, you’re telling me you didn’t revel in the parties they threw, that the two of you didn’t enjoy being allowed to take part in such lechery? That you didn’t take the opportunity to use and abuse and discard human beings indiscriminately and without question or consequence?”

Excitement flashes across his face, quickly covered by unease as he realizes what I’m talking about. Still, he says nothing, so I continue, “I mean, I’ve heard stories where Vincent would put his own wife out on the block for the taking. From what I understand, she was a particular favorite of yours.”

He swallows visibly, sweat beading on his forehead, no longer looking me in the eye as he squirms in his chair. Nervous energy radiates off him as he says quietly, “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but it’s wrong.”

“Oh, really,” I say as I step closer to him and then lean forward until I’m looking him right in the face. “You don’t think maybe she would remember correctly? You’re saying that her eyewitness account of her own treatment is incorrect?”

His eyes widen further, and he shakes his head. “We didn’t do shit to her. From what we saw that little bitch liked it all.”

I don’t let him speak any further. I pull back slightly and then drive my forehead into his nose, and he shouts in pain as blood spatters everywhere. Then I grind out, “Don’t you fucking talk about her, you spineless piece of shit.”

The woman yells from the other side of the room, “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

I walk back over to her and say, “Or what? If y’all would just answer my question, this would be a lot easier.”

“Maybe try being more specific in your questioning, asshole.”

“Are you the fucking sadist everyone makes you out to be?”

“I’m that and more, baby.” She raises her chin at me defiantly, and I resist the urge to wipe the look off her face with my boot. If this bitch is even half as evil as she’s been made out to be, she deserves far worse than a boot to the face. But still, I’m not naturally programmed to beat on women, so I’ll put it off until it’s the last resort. “You seem to think you’re untouchable, that since you enjoy pain, nothing can hurt you. But let me educate you on something, asshole: dead is dead, and there isn’t anyone out there who doesn’t flinch when they see it coming down the pipeline.”

She stares up at me, the haughtiness on her features fading as realization dawns. Still, she raises her chin at me and replies, “Good luck. I don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything, me included. So, kill me slow or kill me fast, but just kill me already.”

“Well, we will see about that, won’t we?”

I stand and look around, asking, “Where is that cute little dog of yours? Muffin or Croissant, or what’s her name?”

She gasps, “You wouldn’t.”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

She’s silent for a few moments and then whispers, “You’re a monster.”

I laugh outright at this, the fact that this lunatic is calling me a monster is completely fucking asinine. I mean, I wouldn’t actually hurt her fucking dog, but she doesn’t know that, and I’m hoping she won’t call my bluff and will instead give me some damn answers. “I don’t think we wanna play a game of who’s the biggest monster in this room. But we can if you’d like.”

She stares up at me, indecision on her face as she searches my eyes for the lie, but she remains quiet.

I shrug. “Have it your way, then,” I yell and move to the door, opening it and calling again, “Muffin! Here, baby!”

She gasps, a sob wrenching free from her as she cries, “No, please!”

I shut the door, stepping back and crouching beside her, leveling her with my most serious face. She stares back at me, her jaw clenched as she contemplates her choices, but finally, she sighs and says, “Word came up a few days ago that Vincent’s widow is gonna be up on the block again on the weekend. Her and her daughter.”

My eyes narrow. “What do you mean her daughter? They don’t have her daughter.”

“I don’t know who they did or didn’t have at the time, but that’s what they said. And that information has not changed as far as I know. That will both be there on the weekend as advertised.”

I pull out my phone and send out the code to be on high alert, and then look back at the man in the chair and ask, “Anything else you wanna add?”

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