This time, I hear them sooner. My body tenses, every muscle tightening in preparation for pain. Fear sharpens my senses until every sound feels amplified. The scrape of rubber soles against concrete, the soft clink of metal.
Henry steps back into the light, and my breath catches despite myself.
He’s carrying something now.
A small table on wheels. The kind you see in a clinic or a mechanic’s shop. On top of it sits a roll of cloth, a bottle of water, and –
A knife.
Not big. Not dramatic. A simple blade with a black handle, clean and utilitarian. That somehow makes it worse.
“No,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
Henry pauses like he’s considering me, his head tilted slightly. “We’re just talking, remember?”
My pulse slams into my throat. “You don’t need that to talk.”
He smiles thinly. “I do.”
Henry wheels the table closer, the sound loud in the cavernous space. It stops inches from my knees. I can smell the oil on the blade now, sharp and metallic.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he says casually, like he’s discussing the weather. “If I wanted that, you wouldn’t have woken up.”
My fingers curl uselessly against the restraints. “Then what do you want?”
He picks up the knife, testing the weight of it in his hand. “I want everything you know about the Shaw family. All of theircontacts. Their backroom deals. Everything you know about the family.”
The family?
He isn’t the first one to refer to them that way. John and Pace have on several occasions. I’ve heard Colter say the same thing, but I always thought it was a saying that represented all the ranch families underneath Black Diamond Ranch.
But the way Henry says it makes it seem as if there is something deeper to the meaning.
He steps behind me.
I freeze.
Every nerve lights up, my body screaming at me to fight, to thrash, to do anything—but I know better. Sudden movements will only make it worse. I force myself to stay still, even as dread coils tight and suffocating in my chest.
“I don’t know anything,” I tell him honestly, my voice shaking. “I swear.”
“You see,” Henry’s voice drifts from somewhere over my shoulder, “I highly doubt that, Peyton. You are the woman to the most feared and powerful crime boss in the southern states. Hell, in the nation, most would say. There is no way he would claim you and not tell you who he truly is. Who they all are.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I scream in disbelief.Crime boss? Colter?All of the meth really has gone to this fuckers head.
The blade touches my skin.
I gasp as cold metal presses against my forearm, right below the elbow. My entire body locks. The contact is light, almost gentle, but it’s enough to make my vision blur at the edges.
“Please,” I beg, the word tearing itself out of me. “Henry, please. I don’t know anything. I swear. Just don’t?—”
Pressure.
Then pain.
It’s not a deep cut, but it’s sharp and sudden, like fire slicing through skin. I cry out, a broken sound ripping from my chest. The chair jerks as I instinctively try to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go.
The knife moves again. Slower this time. Controlled.
