Page 258 of Corrupting Camille
“Camille,” I say softly, “isn’t my weakness.”
I carve the first line across his ribs.
Deep.
Deliberate.
He screams.
“She’s my reason.”
Second cut…just below the first.
He thrashes, blood soaking through his waistband, turning the floor beneath him into a spreading halo of red.
“And you?” I murmur, dragging the blade up his shoulder, slow, letting the tip pierce skin and leave a trail of crimson. “You’re nothing.”
Another gash, this one vertical, down the center of his abdomen. Not fatal. Not yet. I want his breath to stay caught in his throat. I want his lungs to seize, his vision to blur from blood loss, but not give out.
I want him aware.
He sobs now, twitching, shaking, lips trembling like he wants to beg.
“You think making me watch her bleed would make me surrender?” I whisper into his ear. “No, cabrón. You made me remember who the fuck I am.”
I take the blade to his hand, knuckles, fingers, methodically peeling skin from the bone like slicing fruit.
He screams louder now.
Pitches higher.
It’s music.
I glance over my shoulder once, only once, to check the corner. She’s out cold now, tucked in the shadows, blanket wrapped around her. Joaquin is with her now, guarding her with his life.
Good.
She doesn’t need to see this.
No one does.
I press my blade beneath Rojas’s eye, just enough to make him still again.
“Last chance,” I growl. “How many men? How many cells?”
He doesn’t answer.
So I take his tongue.
One quick, brutal motion. His scream is wet, gurgled. Beautiful.
I wipe the blade clean on his ruined shirt, then pull my sidearm and press it against the gaping mess of his abdomen.
“You die slow,” I whisper. “Alone. Afraid. Like every little girl you ever sold. Like every life you traded for power.”
I pull the trigger once.
Twice.
