Page 145 of The Moon's Fury
As if the bastard were bored.
“That was the easy part. I’m going to remove the gag. If you scream, I’ll cut out your tongue. Answer my questions, and we’ll see where the night takes us. Understand?”
Wilzad nodded weakly.
With rough hands, his captor removed the gag but left him blindfolded. A rattling cough clawed out of his bone-dry throat.
“Water?” he rasped.
Silence.
“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking.
He could see nothing. Fear slithered through his veins like poison. After a moment, Wilzad felt something press against his lips, and he greedily gulped down water, but his captor pulled it away before he had scarcely taken two sips.
“Did you come here alone?” the man asked casually, as if he were inquiring about the weather. Wilzad bobbed his head. “No partner? No otherrecruiters?” He shook his head frantically.
“No,” he rasped. “Just me.”
“Hmmm,” his captor mused. “What do you offer them? The young men yourecruit.” Wilzad focused on the man’s cold voice—he feigned nonchalance, but every word was undercut with a sharp edge, ready to knife into him.
Wilzad must have taken too long to respond, because rough, calloused hands gripped his face, fingers digging in painfully.
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.”
“I—money. I promise enough money for a better life.”
His captor’s silence was a heavy, violent shroud, settling over his shoulders with the promise of pain.
“How do you target them?” the man demanded.
He didn’t seem so nonchalant anymore.
“Listen, if it’s money you want—”
The man stuffed the gag back into his mouth and clamped his jaw shut with one large hand. Sharp pain sliced through his face, from temple to cheek. A pained, muffled cry tried to escape, but couldn’t—his captor’s hand over his mouth was a fortress.
“We’ll get to that. Answer my question.” The man removed his hand. Something warm and wet dripped down the side of Wilzad’s face, and he blinked back tears.
With a shuddering breath, he whispered, “I look for loners. Those with no family, no one to come looking for them. Desperate souls.”
“And how many of them make it back home?”
Wilzad swallowed.
“How many make it home?”
A skipped heartbeat, a stab of dread.
“None,” he whispered.
The silence stretched, long and cold.
“The treaty with Alzahra—does Tamzin plan to sendsihrrock? He agreed to send resources.”
“How do you—” The knife found its way inside his mouth. Instinctively, he clamped his teeth around the blade before it reached any deeper. His breath escaped in short pants, heart thundering horrifically. Painstakingly slow, his captor slid the knife out from between his lips, the sharp blade threatening a kiss. “No! No, he isn’t. The treaty was voided by King Ebrahim.”
Another heavy silence descended.
