Page 79 of Devious Kingpin
I’d imagine I didn’t look scary at all at my barely five foot five.
Surprise.
He probably couldn’t believe that I’d managed to capture him. But it was the last one that intrigued me.
Recognition.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Chasing old ghosts,” I drawled lazily. “Do you know which ones?”
He just stared at me blankly. Bruises had formed on his forehead and the side of his cheek. I’d wager he had some on his body too.
Just as I was beginning to think he wouldn’t answer me, he uttered, “Aiden and Ava Cullen.”
A smile curved my lips in a cruel way. So he did remember and he did recognize me. I was told I look a lot like my mother, but it would seem I have my father’s temperament.
“Time to get what you gave,” I taunted, watching as realization settled in his gaze. “There’s no way out.”
Maybe it was sadistic but I quite enjoyed seeing the panic on his face. I imagined it was how my parents felt as their home burned with all of us trapped inside.
He attempted to struggle against the ropes, but it was pointless. Even if he managed to free one hand, he’d be dead by the time he went for his other hand. And fuck, I’d enjoy filling him with bullets. But even more, I was going to enjoy cutting him with a dull knife and listening to his screams. He might not be burning in a fire, but he’d scream just the same.
By now, I was an expert and had learned what worked and what didn’t. Fucking with their head seemed to break them the easiest. Physical torture—not so much. I turned on the stereo and Lana Del Rey’s song “Season of the Witch” came on.
“It’s my song,” I remarked, smiling savagely. “Do you know why?”
He shook his head, so I said, “Because I’m hunting. Except it isn't the season of the witch. It’s the season for bad Russians. Specifically the ones that killed my parents.”
God, I loved fucking with their heads.
“You fucking bitch,” he shouted, struggling against the ropes more vigorously. “Unbind my hands and see how brave you are. Psycho, like your father.”
I should have injected the entire tranquilizer into the bastard. Maybe he’d shut the fuck up with his own taunting.
“Now, now, you don’t want to hurt my feelings,” I purred sweetly as I grabbed the overhead circular light and shone it into his face. “Tell me where Sofia Volkov is and I’ll make this quick. If not, I’ll make it more fun for me. But it won’t be so fun for you.”
“I’m not telling you anything, you crazy bitch,” he spat.
The light illuminated him, and I grabbed his hair, then slammed his head against the wall in the back.
“Good thing the ropes are secured and long enough,” I said in a taunting tone. “It makes it so much easier to smash your skull against the wall.”
The fucker had a hard skull. More bruises formed around his eyes and forehead. “I have to say, you have a thick skull. Every other guy I’ve done this to was knocked out cold after I smashed their skull the first time.”
“You fucking psycho,” he spat again.
“And you don’t even have a concussion,” I continued pensively, ignoring his outburst. “You can still form words. In English, nonetheless.”
He jerked his arms, but the bindings were too strong. It was another little handy thing I’d learned. How to tie knots, just like the military guys. He jerked his arm again and an ugly pop filled the air and I shook my head.
“Now you’ve gone and dislocated your shoulder.”
He didn’t heed the warning nor the pain. He kept struggling against the ropes, kicking and screaming and warning of retribution. The sounds were an unrelenting warning. The kind that my parents never got.
“Where the fuck did you come from?” he barked, glaring at me, but it was all in vain. He’d never get away from me. “How did you get into my home?”
He jerked his head from side to side when I put the lamp closer to his face. He kept squinting his eyes, his eyeballs probably burning.
