Page 11 of Sadist

“Are you psychotic?”

“Sadistic,” I offered. “Want to find out how?”

Her hand whipped out, snatching at the pot handle, and I had her wrist before she even got halfway there, squeezing hard enough to feel the delicate bones in her wrist creak under my grip. There was no reaction from her as she glared at me.

“Be nice,” I crooned. “We don’t play with our food out here. Not that kind anyway.” I tilted my head, watching the erratic thump of her pulse at her throat. “So…What is William Vanguard’s weakness if it’s not his daughter?” I mused.

Her jaw clenched at his name, ever so slightly, but it was there. As was the near-imperceptible tightening across her shoulders that I had noticed more than once now. But she stayed stubbornly silent as I reached behind myself to turn off the stovetop.

“Fortune over family,” I guessed. “I’m guessing William didn’t spoil you much as a child, then? That explains the underlying daddy issues I’m sensing.”

Not a flicker from her.

I hummed, reaching with my free hand to pick up the pot, never letting go of her wrist as I took both fuming woman and steaming soup through to the clean cell two I had prepped for her.

“What, no cuffs this time?” she spat at me as I pushed her into the simple chair by the bolted-down table in the room.

“Good behavior gets rewards,” I said simply, pushing the pot to the far end of the table as she eyed it again. I pointed to thetoilet at the far side of the room. “See. It even flushes. And if you ask me nicely, you can have a pillow.”

“No, wait.” She made to jump up, and I pushed her firmly back into the seat.

“I’m going to go now.” I said. “Eat your dinner, get some sleep, and if you behave, you can have another hot shower in the morning after I have done a little more research.”

I left her gaping at me in fury, the sound of the pot clanging off the door a second after I closed it, chuckling softly to myself at the stream of truly admirable obscene language that followed.

Pulling out my phone, I flicked through the contacts as I let myself back through the doors and set about warming the other can of soup for myself. O’Malley answered with a grunt.

“Watchu’ want, Lancaster? I ain’t even started it yet.”

“I want a copy of that video uploaded to social media,” I said by way of greeting. “Send it to Vanguard as well, but don’t expect an answer.”

“You what?” O’Malley asked, sounding more confused than his usual baseline.

“Facebook, Twitter, TikTok, all of them.” I enunciated each word clearly. “The full cut. Up the contrast so the bruise on her face is visible as well. Just the file, no context. And make sure you tag Vanguard Technology and their executive team in each.”

“Don’t we want the feds out of this?”

“Not this time,” I said. “I took her myself. The pickup was clean, and there’s no risk of her being traced back. The only one who knows who is pulling the strings is Vanguard, and he will want them involved even less than we do.”

There was a long pause.

“What name do I upload it under?”

“I don’t know O’Malley,” I sighed. “Maybe Angus Lachlan O’Malley, if you feel like taking a long holiday in a concrete box?Use those last two brain cells, rub them together, and figure it out. Send me the link when it’s live.”

“Oka—”

I ended the call and flicked to the next contact. Erryn picked up on the third ring with her signature, “Loxley.”

“What connections do you have to the press?”

There was an even longer pause than O’Malley had given me.

“Why?” Her tone was as cold as ice.

I grinned as I pulled my own steaming soup off the element and took it across to my picnic table, knowing I was about to throw a fox into the organized hencoop that was Erryn Loxley.

“Because I’m sending you a link that I need to go viral.”

---