One down.
"Now," I say. "The information."
"What information? I told you, I don't?—"
"Names. Locations. Who runs the trafficking operation. Where they keep the kids. How many people are involved." I meet his eyes. "You have three seconds before I start cutting pieces off your wife."
"You wouldn't?—"
"One."
"This is insane?—"
"Two."
"Okay!" He holds up his hands. "Okay. I'll tell you. Just—don't hurt her."
The words pour out of him.
Names—half a dozen people involved in the operation.
Locations—warehouses, safe houses, routes they use to move the kids.
Money—who pays, who profits, where the cash goes.
A whole network of evil, laid bare because a man wanted to save his wife.
I commit it all to memory.
Every name.
Every location.
Every detail.
And then he says something that stops my heart.
"I don't just transport them," he says. "I—I sample the merchandise. Before they're sold. Some of the buyers, they want them broken in already, and I?—"
"Stop."
The word comes out strangled.
He samples them.
The children.
He rapes children before they're sold.
The knife trembles in my hand.
Every cell in my body screaming to put it through his throat.
To end him right here, right now.
To make the world a cleaner place.
Susie is sobbing. "Oh god. Oh god, Ted. Children? You—you've been?—"
