“You’re not in therapy,” Rafe retorts.
“Exactly,” I reply without looking at him. “Imagine how much worse it could get.”
I turn back to the moron in front of me, a smile returning. “You going to talk?”
He clamps his jaw shut.
Ah. A bold stance.
I stand and drag the chair backward across the floor. The legs screech like tortured violin strings. He winces at the sound, like it hurts more than the bruises.
“You know,” I continue conversationally, “the last guy who fucked with me had the courtesy to confess to all sins right away.” I pause, considering. “Saved everyone a lot of time.”
Silence.
I sigh like I’m inconvenienced. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Rafe steps forward and slides a folding blade into my hand like he’s passing a pen to sign paperwork. The man knows my moods.
I flip it open, admiring the glint under the fluorescent lights. “Last chance. Who are you working for?”
The rat’s voice cracks. “If I talk, they’ll kill me.”
I grin, bright and terrible. “Then we have something in common.”
His eyes widen.
I drag the blade lightly along the collar of his shirt—not cutting, just enough to make him feel the difference between mercy and choice.
“We can do this easily,” I offer, almost kindly, “or we can do this creatively.”
He stays silent.
Creativity, it is.
I drag the chair sideways until he’s under the harshest spotlight. His sweat glistens.
My pulse slows in that familiar, pleasurable way. Violence is the only thing in the world that can calm my rage, and today I’m raging.
“Talk,” I whisper.
He trembles.
My blade taps his cheek. “Talk.”
Nothing.
I drive the knife into his upper arm, taking careful measures not to hit any major arteries. A tortured scream escapes his mouth as he jerks so hard the chair skids.
“You know what I hate?” I ask, standing tall and spreading my hands like I’m hosting a seminar. “Wasted potential.” My gaze drops to him. “And wasted time.”
Rafe shifts, gaze scanning the door out of habit. “We can do this without killing him.”
I blink slowly. “That’s adorable.”
The rat makes a choking sound, yet he still doesn’t talk. I turn to Rafe behind me and reach out my hand.
Rafe is already smiling and prepared as he hands me a set of pliers.
