Page 8 of Only for Him
He tries to speak, but the silicone ball crammed between his teeth makes it come out in a spew of drool and muffled consonants. His bugged-out eyes dart from me to the nightstand and back in pure panic.
Briefly, I consider letting him squirm a little longer, but I hate being here any second longer than I need to.
This is the place where MacDougal presses innocent faces into his own filth, where his dirty money buys him immunity from dragging young women into their own personal hells.
I crouch until I’m at eye level with him and smile as I flick open my knife.
“Listen to me, James,” I say, soft as a lullaby. “When I take out the gag, I don’t want to hear any speeches or appeals. Nod if you understand.”
He nods franticly, sweat puddling at his temple. I enjoy the transformation when a predator collapses into prey. The gag pops free from his mouth and the screaming starts immediately.
Can’t even keepthatpromise, can he?
“Please… please… whatever you want—” His voice is ragged, splattered with spittle. “I have money. You want money, right?”
My fingers clamp around his throat until his pathetic noises turn to a dull sputter.
“We both know that money isn’t even yours.”
“Please.” His vocal cords jerk under my palm. “I can get you anything. Just… just tell me who sent you, I’ll double it?—”
“I sent myself.”
He goes limp at my words. “Look, I’m not who you think. I’m not… Jesus, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I’ve got a family?—”
“A wife who took her two daughters to Connecticut away from you.” I nod. “I know, James.”
His eyes balloon. “What… what do you want?”
“Information, mostly. Then the rest.”
He tries to recoil, but the restraints are too tight. “About what? I don’t know anything.”
“Let’s start simple.” I lean in. “Pavel Starkov. Name ring a bell?”
He shudders. I already know the answer, but ritual is important. I won’t ask again, and I wait long enough for him to know it before I wave the knife in front of his face. He flinches, but the words finally come out.
“ I only met with him twice, I swear, it was just a fundraiser?—”
“Human trafficking isn’t a fundraiser, James.”
He tries a different approach. “Look, I’m just the face. If I didn’t cooperate, they’d?—”
“Oh I’m aware of the usual threats,” I say. “But it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change the payments you accepted from Starkov. Both monetary and otherwise.” I look around this disgusting room of pain and debauchery. “What other deals have you helped Starkov make?”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” MacDougal whimpers. The skin at his wrists is going stark white against the purple restraints. “Please. I’m barely involved.”
“If there’s one thing I hate more than men who help traffick children.” I exhale, slow and clean. “It’s liars.”
He goes silent. In the mirror above, I watch his lips work, conjuring apologies he’ll never get to utter. I let him stew, watching the panic flush his cheeks. He goes from red with exertion to the palest white.
I drag the knife along his chest, relishing the thin red line that trails in the blade’s wake.
“I know what you did to those girls, James,” I say. “I know you like the way they beg. I know you like it even more when they scream.”
I rest the tip of the blade just above his sternum. His skin is pale and loose, pocked with age. He starts to cry real tears.
I lick my lips, and the moment I do, I tastehername on them.
