Page 62 of Cruel Captor

I already broke Tamara’s ribs without meaning to. God only knows what I might do to her if we were together again. And even knowing the danger, she wouldn’t leave me. She’d stay with me, trying to help me, until I killed her.

“Fair warning,” I say to Carter, rubbing my numb face with my hand. “I go for days without sleep and then when I finally pass out from exhaustion, I have nightmares and walk in my sleep and smash the shit out of everything around me.”

His gaze sweeps the room. “So you’re not just a serial killer. You’re a ticking time bomb who’s going to go off at any moment and take out everyone around you.”

“That sums it up nicely.” I manage a brittle smile. “Still want to go ahead with this?”

He scowls in disgust. “Like I have a lot of options? ‘Serial killer team member’ isn’t a job category on LinkedIn. Try not to flip your shit until after we take care of Gideon, okay?”

“I can’t make any promises. All right, let’s talk logistics. You’d be the most logical suspect if he disappeared, right? Everyone knows you tried to get him prosecuted after Molly died, and with you being fired, they’ll be thinking rogue cop on a revenge spree. Which is true. So you need to set yourself up with an ironclad alibi while I grab him, and we can meet up after I’ve held him for a couple of days. It’ll take the heat off you.”

“That’s easy. I work security at a nightclub now.” He frowns in thought. “Tools. I have to think what I’m gonna bring with me.”

I haven’t even searched him to see if he’s wired. I could be handing myself over to him for a prison sentence. But I’m reckless and uncaring now. The hell with it. “I like knives,” I say with a smile that would freeze the blood of a sane man. A man who wasn’t crazed with grief.

Carter just nods in appreciation. “I feel like I’m gonna be more of a hammer man.”

“Gonna be”, like this is going to be a regular thing?I wonder. But hey, nothing wrong with hammers. They get the job done.

“Hammers can be very effective tools,” I say. “I’ve got a property in upstate New York you can use. Nothing fancy—a cabin out in the woods, incinerator to dispose of the remains, lots of bleach. Let’s pick a night.”

CHAPTERTWENTY

JOSHUA

Gideon’s been chained up to the wall of my cellar for two days now. I let him drink bottles of water and I feed him; it’s no fun killing someone who’s ready to pass out from hunger and dehydration. Weak prey is boring. The prey needs its strength so it can put up a good fight.

Gideon mistook my feeding him for mercy.

He started out arrogant, threatening me, sneering, telling me I didn’t know who I was fucking with. That was funny. If the loss of Tamara hadn’t burned away my ability to feel happiness, I’d have laughed my ass off.

Gideon moved on pretty quickly to desperation. He wanted to know how much ransom I was asking for, how the negotiations were going, and how much longer he’d be here.

I didn’t speak to him. Not one word.

That’s started to scare him.

He’s begun offering bribes, throwing in more and more money until, just as Carter walks in the door, he’s weeping like a little girl and promising everything he has and a lot of shit he doesn’t if I’ll just let him go and please, please, he’ll never say a word about who took him, and…

When his eyes light on Carter, his face goes fish-belly white.

“Remember me? RememberMolly?”Carter’s eyes have a crazy light I recognize all too well. It’s almost a shame. Carter was a very good man, once upon a time. And now he’s my spiritual brother.

Carter and I unchain Gideon, then carry him over to the table in the middle of the room as he struggles and screams. I was hoping for more fight. Gideon’s much weaker than the type of prey I normally hunt, but then again, he’s Carter’s prize, not mine.

I pull the chains up from the table legs, and Carter and I chain Gideon down. His pale, skinny body convulses, and when Carter sets a toolbox down next to Gideon’s head and opens it, Gideon makes beautiful music with his screams.

I settle back to watch as Carter goes to work.

He starts with the hands, mashing Gideon’s fingers to pulp. He moves on to his ribcage, his arms, his nose. He takes his time, drawing it out, savoring every moment.

He’s good. He knows where all the pain points are.

I stand by with a bucket of ice water, dumping it on Gideon’s head whenever he passes out.

Gideon’s a waste of space, but I will say this, he has very healthy lungs. He makes noises long past the time I thought he’d be unable to draw breath.

Many hours have passed when Carter finally drops his hammer to the floor. I look over at him to see how he’s taking all this. His purpose in life used to be the pursuit of justice. Will this tip him over the edge? Will he sink into self-loathing and remorse for what he’s done?

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