I don’t see him getting close to spilling anything decent until he has spilled his load inside of Macy. Since I refuse to allow that to happen on my watch, I light up Samuel’s temple with my sniper scope again, wordlessly announcing to Macy that her time is up.
She flares her nostrils, but after a quick gesture of agreement, she relays my message to Samuel. She slips her hands down his boxer shorts, as he’s endeavored to force her to do multiple times since he stripped out of his pre-cum stained trousers, and then she grips his junk in a determined hold.
Samuel jerks back in an instant, his expression pained. “Whoa, hold on, sweetheart. Not all men like it rough.”
“Really?” It’s fucked to admit this right now, but Macy’s sexpot voice could make any man hard. Myself included. “Because from what I’ve heard, Sammy, you like it rough.”
She clamps down on his genitals so firmly this time around that I stealthily move out of the bathroom and into the main room of the penthouse without alerting Samuel to my presence until he smells my cologne.
“What the fuck?” he murmurs, shocked by my arrival. “Whatever kinky shit you two are into can stay between you. I’m not interested.”
His cheeks redden when Macy’s grip makes even me grimace. She’s seconds away from castrating him with her bare hands. “Once again, that isn’t what I’ve heard, Sammy.”
When Samuel thickens below the belt more with every squeeze, Macy yanks her hand out of his boxers before using atactic that all agents apply to subdue and arrest a criminal. She pinches the pressure point in his shoulder, folding his knees out from underneath him, before she twists him away from her.
I realize she’s taking it one step further than what we learned at the academy when she pulls back the wrist she tugged behind his bulky frame. She yanks Samuel’s hand so far back that she is seconds away from snapping several bones in his wrist.
Her voice is no longer sugary sweet when she demands, “Give me something on the baby-making ring in this state, and then maybe you can walk out of here without a conviction.”
She’s lying, but Samuel doesn’t know her well enough to realize. “I don’t know anything.” He sobs like a baby, stupidly believing Macy will go easy on him now that his appendage isn’t on the line.
Big mistake.
A snap cracks through the penthouse when Macy dislocates one of his fingers before she moves toward a second one. “Give me something on the baby-making ring you work for.”
“I don’t know anything.”
Crack.
“I work in construction?—”
Crack.
If Samuel is a pianist, he will need a new occupation. He’ll have trouble holding a pen at this rate.
“This is your last chance, Sammy.”
“I swear to God, I don’t know anything.”
Crack.
Macy eyes his crooked fingers on his right hand before she reaches for her gun. It dawns on me that she didn’t solely pack a gun for her date. Her bureau-assigned pistol smuggled the knife that we used to cut potatoes for the dinner prep meals we made while waiting for our lunch to cook.
She looks at me, her expression serious despite the panic flaring through her eyes. She usually plays good cop during interrogations like this, and the changeup is evident on her face. “I figure if it slices through bones with no issues, it will slice through the vessel that feeds the corpus cavernosum like a hot knife through butter.”
Samuel swallows harshly, like he is aware of the repercussions of a failing corpus cavernosum, but Macy still spells it out to him.
“The corpus cavernosum is one of the two chambers in your penis that fills with blood when you want to achieve an erection. If it can’t fill with blood, say from a severed blood vessel”—she makes a noise of a rock sinking into a bottomless pond before she lines up her knife with said blood vessel—“nothingworks.”
Samuel’s throat bobs as he shoots his eyes to me. “Come on, man. Don’t let her do this.”
“Oh… now you want me here. I thought you weren’t into that?”
“I’m not… I just… oh god, please. I don’t want to live without a functioning dick.” Big, panicked breaths separate his pleas. I get it. Honestly, I do. A knife anywhere down there warrants a panic attack. Macy knows that. That’s why she’s using it as an interrogation tactic.
“Last chance, Sammy.” She projects confidence, like she won’t struggle with her decision to play bad cop for days on end, her voice full of fake cruelty. “Or say goodbye to little Mr. R?—”
Before she can get out the nickname of Samuel’s wang, he folds like a lawn chair. “I don’t know the full details of the operation. We’re merely transport.”
