Page 23 of Assassin's Prey
We grabbed both sides of the man’s collar and dragged him into the warehouse.
“Yoo—” Eli stopped, shook his head. He dropped his handful and made a gesture that could either meango fuck yourself, assholeortie him up yourself. Maybe both. I bet on the latter and pulled the deadweight over to the chair already set up for our guest. By the time he stirred, he was trussed tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey.
“What the…fu…wha—” He shook his head groggily. I let him soak for a few more minutes, giving the last of the sedative time to dissipate.
Eli wandered up with a bag of frozen peas plastered to his face. The look he gave the man in the chair could’ve felled the enemy at fifty feet, much less five.
The man was awake enough to grin.
Eli huffed.
Worked for me. “He’s all yours, E.”
I gave my brother twenty minutes. Plenty of time to rough the guy up a little, for which I did not feel guilty. Rathlin’s group wasn’t known for caring about the innocent, and from the insignia on this guy’s jacket, he’d been involved with Rathlin for quite a while.
When I figured he was loose enough, I signaled Eli to back off.
“Look,” I said, coming to stand square in front of him. “I’m not interested in killing you. I also don’t want this to take all day. Just tell me what the fuck y’all are after so I can kick your ass out the door.”
The guy turned his head and spit. “Fuck off.”
“I take it that means you won’t cooperate.”
He stared up at me, defiance in his eyes, lips tight. I shrugged. “Bring me the Taser,” I told Eli.
The guy scoffed. “Really?”
“Oh, this?” Eli held up the small black rectangle. “We made a few modifications. No darts; that’s nice. More direct current—not so nice. Have you had an enema today? No? You might wish you had in a few minutes.”
Eli handed me the Taser. I flipped the switch and touched the pointed end to the man’s chest. He grunted quietly, then laughed.
“He doesn’t think we’ll do anything,” Eli said. His voice took on an evil glee. “Stick him again.”
I tipped my head toward my brother. “We need to give him at least one more chance. You know how I feel about this.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “Every torture victim is someone’s son or daughter,” he said in a singsong voice. “I know.”
I really did feel that way. Not that this guy was going to care. I raised my eyebrow. “Last chance, asshole—what do y’all want?”
“I already gave you my answer: fuck you.”
I turned the dial on the Taser a couple of clicks. What happened next wasn’t pretty. When he finally quit twitching, I asked again, “What does Chadwick want? Is this about the trust? Because I don’t give a shit about the money.”
The man worked his mouth for a minute, finally shook his head.
Okay.
This time was worse. The guy threw up after; for a minute I thought his stomach would actually come up, he clenched so hard. I stood impassively, waiting for the retching to stop. “Tell me what I want to know. What does Chadwick want?”
The man gave a watery growl. “Chadwick is a pissant.”
“Meaning what?” Eli asked.
No answer. Another zap.
“Here’s what I don’t get it,” I said while his teeth rattled in the aftermath. “Why kill me over a trust? The man has to have more money than he knows what to do with, especially after eleven years of skimming. Or is he just trying to avoid someone finding out the trust is empty?” Not the most likely possibility, but who knew?
A weak grin pulled at the man’s mouth. “You think this is about money?” A sick laugh left him. “Have you even read that trust?”
