I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. I had fucking known that was his intention, but I just hadn’t thought it’d happen this fast.
But hearing it come from this bastard’s mouth made it real in a way that amped up my anger.
My rage crystallized.
“Where?” I demanded. “Where does Delgado live?”
He looked up, eyes glassy. “No.”
“Wrong answer.”
I dropped the shears and picked up a different blade—curved, short, meant for skinning animals.
“You’ve had your chance.”
I seized his arm and pressed the blade into the crook of his elbow, then dragged it all the way to his wrist.
Skin peeled. Blood poured.
He screamed so hard he couldn’t breathe, his body jerking like a puppet on wires.
“You’ve got seconds,” I said flatly. “Maybe. Tell me where Delgado is, and someonemightstop the bleeding.”
He stared at me, tears streaking down his face. Then he dropped his head again, his breathing ragged and shallow.
“No,” he whispered.
And that was it.
He hung there, slowly swinging, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath his feet, rippling as each drop joined it. Then his head slumped sideways—and stayed there.
Dead.
I stared at him. Silent. Still.
My rage didn’t explode outward.
It sat in my chest like a loaded gun.
“They’re going to wish they killed me first,” I said, single-minded in my resolve now. “Delgado. Every man he has working for him. Every buyer planning to show up at that auction.”
Henri exhaled slowly. “What now?”
“Clean this up,” I said.
I turned to Rory.
“Take me home.”
Chapter twenty-five
The second they threw me into the SUV, a black bag went over my head, and someone cinched zip ties around my wrists in front of me, tightening them until the plastic dug into my flesh.
I couldn’t afford to fight with them.
I should’ve let Mr. Stalker have me.
If Carmine trusted him, then he probably wasn’t planning to kill me. He’d had plenty of chances to do whatever he wanted to me, and all he’d done was tease me and ignite a strange mix of fear and hunger.
