Page 165 of Brutal Knight

It was onion man.

Manuel gestured with two fingers and the guards released their hold on him and he crumpled to the floor, moaning in pain.

"On your knees," Manuel demanded, his cold blue eyes not looking at the man, but at me, instead.

Still groaning in pain, the man struggled to his hands, then, finally, managed to pull his knees upward so that he was bowing before Manuel.

"Not at me," Manuel scoffed derisively, taking a sip of a brown amber drink. Probably whiskey.

I wasn't sure what he meant until the man struggled, once more, until he was facing me, his head still bowed in supplication.

"Now." Manuel stood, towering over the man, his face impassive. "Apologize to her."

"I apologize, ma'am," onion man mumbled to the floor.

"Look her in the eyes," Manuel hissed, his voice going dangerously low.

Onion man's face tilted upward, revealing two swollen eyes, so swollen, he couldn't see from them. His shirt was torn, and he had cuts and bruises all over his face and chest.

"I apologize, ma'am. Please forgive me," there seemed to be genuine remorse in his words.

"I warned you, didn't I?" Manuel ran the back of his hand across his mouth and I recognized the telltale signs I'd come to learn so long ago. A quickened breath, subtle, but the unmistakable shake to his chest, and the brightening of his eyes.

He was growing excited.

And now I understood. He'd put onion man in charge of me on purpose. He'd known the man's weakness, that I would be a temptation to him, and had wanted to test him.

And, of course, the man had failed. Just like Manuel knew he would.

"Please," the man's broken tone softened my heart. "Forgive me?"

I stared at him in both horror and dread. Within seconds, Manuel had his gun out, aimed for the man's head. "Looks like the missus doesn't forgive you."

I suddenly realized, too late, that I was the only one who could save him.

I inhaled a sharp yelp as a bullet silenced the man's broken pleas, and he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling on the floor.

Bending over, Manuel grasped the man's face, staring into his eyes with an entranced expression. "You know the part I love the most?" he asked, his gaze moving to me. It shouldn't have surprised me, the excitement I saw in them. The pleasure.

But it did. The hair on the back on my neck stood on end. My gut churned and the urge to jump from my chair and run from the room was overpowering.

Suddenly, as if he could sense it, Antonio's hands came down on my shoulders, holding me there. I couldn't move.

"The light," Manuel continued, as if I'd answered him. "I love to see the light leave their eyes. That's my favorite part."

A shiver of revolt climbed up my esophagus and I clenched my teeth to keep from vomiting. Antonio's fingers on my shoulders tightened...protectively?

"Now," Manuel's smile was strained, "see how I can protect you, Tatiana?" He paused, waiting for my reaction. "I always protect my little, helplesspajarita," he continued when I didn't respond.

I wanted to show him how well I could protect myself, but my heart was still jack-hammering in my chest, my stomach still clenching in a revolting manner. I was sick at the sight of him, the smell of cooked veal and broccoli, plus the simmering scent of cinnamon--surely dessert waiting in the kitchen--mixed with the blood still pooling from the man's head. All of it combined wasn't helping me gain the courage I wanted--to be able to stab him in the throat with my butter knife.

So, as Manuel's face darkened at my non-response, Antonio's fingers grew tighter on my shoulders. I managed a smile, then a simple, "Thank you."

At this, Manuel relaxed, his fake smile growing genuine. "I always protect what's mine," he said as he sat back down.

As soon as he was seated, two men dragged onion man's body out of the room. The scent of bleach quickly filled the air as a woman in a cook's uniform came in and began to clean up his blood from the floor.

"Eat," Manuel demanded, nodding curtly to the food already served on a white, china plate before me.

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