Page 96 of Master of Lies

Boer had taken off his mask. The late Joe Grifo had been excellent at his job. I would not have recognized the guy in a crowd. Everything has been changed. Jaw implants, nose job, chin lift, cheek implants, eyelids, even his lips were different. His eyebrows had been reshaped. Even his hairline has been changed.

But those beady, malevolent dark eyes, those were the same, even with contact lenses. All creased up with that gloating, self-satisfied smile.

I didn’t have the juice for a snappy response, so I stuck with my dull stare. Maybe I could bore him to death.

He slid his hand around, gripping Freya’s breast, and his grin widened as he saw me react. No, this guy was in no danger of suffering from boredom today.

“Maybe we should wait a while to open up the algorithm,” Boer said, rubbing his dick against Freya’s ass. “We could have a little fun. Let you watch. What do you say, Nicole? Do you want to play? Nicole likes girls, too,” he informed us.

Nicole looked over at us, her bruised face sullen and hostile. “I’m not in the mood,” she said, her voice colorless. “And she’s not my type. We get the algorithm running first. Fuck her all you want after that.

Boer frowned at her. “You’re no fun.”

“You want fun?” Nicole’s mouth twisted. “Playing with this toy, that’ll be fun. How shall we begin? Cut out the power grid in Dubai and see what happens? Hack into the nuclear missile silos in Russia and fuck around with them? Nowthatwould be fun.”

Boer’s eyes gleamed. “You’re on, bitch. Open that algo for us, Freya. If you damage it, or fail to deliver, I will cut chunks off your boyfriend’s body and cauterize each wound with a hot iron so he won’t bleed out. I’ll make it last for long time. And when he finally dies of shock, I’ll do the same to you while your brother watches on a livestream. I can cut off a piece just to demonstrate my commitment. What should I start with? A foot, a hand? Something more…intimate?”

“No need.” Freya’s voice was cool and even. “I have absolute confidence in your commitment. Let’s get to work.”

“Amen,” Nicole said. “That’s the attitude I like. Work first, play later. Stop jerking off, Wex. Get her over to the fucking computer. Let’s do this thing.”

“You said you’d let us go if I opened the algo for you,” Freya said.

Boer snickered. “And you believed me. That’s on you, sweet cheeks. You disappoint me. I’d expect that out of Rachelle Grifo, but Shane said you were smart.”

“Shane?” Freya asked. “What happened to Shane? Is he dead? Do you know?”

The gloating smile vanished from Bower’s surgically molded lips. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Please. It costs you nothing, right? We’re going to die anyway. Just tell us what you know. There’s no risk to you.”

“Die unsatisfied, bitch,” Boer said. “That’s just the final fuck-you of fate. I have no clue where that asshole is. They attacked my team and took him away. Fuckers.”

“Who attacked your team?” Freya’s voice was sharper. “Took him where?”

“My client, who shall remain nameless, until I kill him myself. Now get to work, before I—”

“Just his name,” Freya pleaded. “Just tell me who he is.”

Smack.Boer knocked Freya off her feet. Then he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her over to the computer, where Nicole tapped her nails impatiently.

“The moment of truth!” Nicole said, her voice fake-sweet. “I actually have some medical training, believe it or not. I was studying to be a neurosurgeon, so I understand pain. That’s my little superpower.” She pulled out a knife and rested the point right under Freya’s ear. “Now get to work, bitch.”

“Having a knife to my throat really fucks my concentration,” Freya said.

“Oh, does it? Is it hard? Oh, no! I’m so sorry!” Her hand jerked, and Freya flinched away with cry, blood flowing from a cut on her cheek.

“Get to work,” Nicole said, her voice like ice. “The next cut is your eye.”

CHAPTER33

Freya

This feeling was strangely familiar. I’d done this before. Floated loose of my body, staying somewhere far outside myself, for self-preservation. It was a coping mechanism from the bad old days in the basement with Uncle Orren and Aunt Jean.

But I’d never had to perform complex intellectual activities in that state.

I barely felt the hot, ticklish streams of my own blood, running down my face and onto my sweater. Some splattered onto my hands and make the keyboard sticky.

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