Henri dragged in a floodlight and snapped it on.
The man screamed as we yanked his tied hands up behind him, dislocating both of his shoulders, and strapped him to the hook. His legs were ruined—bones splintered, muscles torn. He wasn’t going anywhere. But that didn’t mean we’d make him comfortable.
“I want an address. Now,” I said, circling behind him. “Where’s Delgado holding her?”
He whimpered something in Spanish.
Rory stepped forward and squeezed the man’s thigh—right above the shattered patella.
The man howled.
“You’re going to scream either way,” Rory said calmly. “Might as well give us something useful while you still have a tongue.”
“I’ll talk,” the man gasped.
I leaned in close to his face. His breathing was shallow and wet, like he was already halfway to drowning in his own blood.His forehead glistened with sweat, panic bleeding through every pore.
“This is your chance,” I said. “Tell me where they took her.”
But he didn’t speak, just wheezed through his nose, eyes darting between Rory and me.
So be it.
I stood and crossed to the workbench at the back wall. Dust coated the old tools, but the important ones had been cleaned and well-maintained.
I picked up a pair of garden shears with wicked-sharp blades. I tossed them back and forth from one hand to the other, glancing at Rory as I returned to stand in front of the man.
“You know,” I said casually, “I’ve always thought the Italians and the Russians weren’t so different. Both are good with numbers. Both love their mothers.” I snapped the shears closed. “And both know how to cut a man down.”
The bastard whimpered as I approached him.
“One snip at a time,” I said, calm as could be. “It’s not my pain.”
I reached over, grabbed his ear between two of my fingers—and sheared it off in one clean motion.
His scream shook the rafters.
Blood poured down his neck, bright red seeping into the fabric of his shirt like ink.
“Fuck,” Henri muttered behind me, turning away for half a second.
The man thrashed, eyes wide, mouth stretching open as if desperate to scream out for a god that would never hear him. None came.
I flicked the ear away like trash.
“You might bleed out before I even get to the good parts,” I said. “But that’s on you.”
His head lolled forward—the pain overcoming his bravado. “No…no more. Please—don’t.”
“All you have to do is talk,” I said, stepping closer. “Tell me where they took her. What they’re planning to do.”
His voice cracked. “Delgado…took her to his place. Mr. Delgado’s house.”
That tracked. He was keeping her close. Wanted full control.
“And?”
“They’re selling her tonight.”
