I wasted no time questioning him directly, holding him in place as I delved into his thoughts.
“Spring Palace,” I muttered, sifting through his memories.
He struggled to break free, but he was no match for me. I didn’t even need to use my haze to keep him restrained.
It took me exactly two minutes to extract the intel he had. It wasn’t much. He was clearly a low-ranking officer sent on a recon mission to Slava. He had no information on the location of the Amplifier or any other significant intel. As I waded through his mind, I relayed my lack of findings to Emma.
Once I had everything I needed, I tightened my grip around his windpipe, feeling the pressure build. His eyes widened in terror as his breathing grew labored.
“Wait!” Emma's voice pierced the moment, commanding me without question.
I kept him in my hold but turned my head to look at her. Her face was a mix of determination and something softer—perhaps vulnerability.
She swallowed hard, her focus fixed on the man struggling against me. “He hasn’t wronged you,” she said, her words clearand edged with an intense resolve. “But him and his friends nearly killed me. He’s mine to finish.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. There was no hesitation, no fear in her voice—only cold, calculated intent.
“Do you need me to hold him?” I asked, my tone a mix of curiosity and readiness.
Emma shook her head, her focus locked on the man who was still gasping for air.
I released him, and he collapsed to the floor, clutching at his throat and coughing violently. I stepped back, giving her the space to handle her retribution.
Emma took my place, crouching in front of him with a commanding presence. She grabbed his chin, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to meet her gaze. He didn’t even attempt to flee—trapped in her stare.
I watched her with a mix of fascination and something darker. Her smile was both alluring and menacing, a dangerous curve of her lips promising sweet revenge.
“Do you know who I am?” she whispered, her voice a soft, lethal caress.
He shook his head, his expression wide and pleading for mercy.
Emma leaned in, her body pressing into his with a dangerous, almost seductive intimacy. His eyes, unable to resist, flicked down toward her chest, and I nearly scratched them out. But I held back—this was her game, her party. So I stayed in the background, my jaw tight, unable to look away from her.
“I am your atonement,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. Then, with a provocative flick of her tongue, she traced the shell of his ear. He shivered, and a visible reaction betrayed his arousal, the outline of his erection becoming apparent through his pants.
Her hands slid to the back of his neck, her touch deceptively gentle, yet utterly in control. The Radical let out a shaky breath, his head tipping back slightly as his lids fluttered shut, lost in the unexpected pleasure of her touch.
Then, with one swift, decisive motion, she snapped his neck.
His body went slack, collapsing to the floor with a heavy thud.
"That’s for Jack and the other six kids you murdered, asshole,” she hissed, her tone ice-cold. She rose to her feet, and with a deliberate motion, she spat on him.
I was in fucking awe. Who the hell was this woman?
I cleared my throat, feigning boredom. “You done?”
She gave me a curt nod, and I made the body disappear.
A silent understanding settled between us.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
She snorted. “Please, don’t pretend to care.”
I clenched my jaw, my gaze landing on the Skindo tattoo etched into her skin—a stark reminder of who she was, what she had endured, and exactly why she had every right to hate me.
Best if I kept my distance.
