Page 28 of Tormented Oath

"We don't know anything," the third man bursts out. American accent, trying too hard to sound tough. "We were just hired to take pictures?—"

The sound of my hand connecting with his face cracks through the room like a gunshot. I didn't even consciously decide to move. The Monster simply...responded.

"Interrupting is rude," I say mildly, straightening my cuffs. Blood trickles from the man's split lip. "And lying to me is...inadvisable."

The young one starts to cry silently. The tattooed one remains stoic, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands. They're breaking. It's just a matter of time.

I lean against the table, selecting another piece of their equipment. A satellite phone, expensive and untraceable. Or so they thought.

"Here's what I know," I say, keeping my voice conversational. Pleasant even. "I know you were hired to photograph specific containers. I know you have a contact point in the park three blocks east. And I know—" I snap the phone in half with my bare hands, making them all flinch, "—that you're not the only team in play."

The tattooed one's head snaps up at that. Interesting.

"Oh yes," I smile, all teeth. "We're aware of your...colleagues. The question is, how much pain are you willing to endure to protect people who clearly didn't think enough of you to warn you about my new security measures?"

I move back behind them, letting the words sink in. The young one breaks first, as I knew he would.

"It was a phone call," he sobs. "Disguised voice. Said to document shipment patterns, take photos of manifests. Easy money, they said. Just drop the intel at the dead drop and?—"

"Shut up!" Prison-tattoos snarls, but the dam has broken.

"They said other people were already in place!" The words tumble out between hitching breaths. "That we just had to worry about the docks because they had someone in the club already. We didn’t?—"

The sound of my hand slamming onto the metal table silences him. The Monster roars in my chest, hungry for blood, but I keep my voice deadly calm.

"What club?"

Silence falls again, heavier this time. Even the young one seems to realize he's said too much.

I move to stand before them, letting them see exactly what they're dealing with.

"Let me be very clear," I say softly. "You have two options. Tell me everything you know about this other operative, or find out exactly why they call me Monster. And trust me," I lean down, meeting each of their terrified gazes in turn, "the stories don't do me justice."

Prison-tattoos is the one who breaks this time. "We don't know details. Just...just heard them say the club infiltration was successful. That someone was already close to you. That's all, I swear to God."

The words hit like bullets, but I don't let it show. Can't let it show. Because they're wrong.

No one is getting close to me.

"Names," I demand. "Descriptions. Every detail you remember about this...infiltration."

"We don't know!" The American again, desperate now. "Everything was compartmentalized. We just know it's someone you'd never suspect?—"

My hand closes around his throat, cutting off his words. "Choose your next statement very carefully."

But he's said enough. They've all said enough.

I straighten, adjusting my cuffs again. My old habit when I need to cage the Monster, to maintain control.

"Tommaso," I call, knowing he's waiting just outside. He appears instantly, efficient as always. "Get everything they know. Every detail, no matter how small." I glance at the three men, letting them see the promise of violence in my eyes. "Make it memorable."

"And you, boss?"

I'm already moving toward the door, mind racing. "I have a club to check on."

* * *

The drive back to the club feels endless. Dawn bleeds across the sky, painting Chicago in shades of gold and shadow. My city is stirring to life, unaware of the games being played in its depths.

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