“How did he know who she was? How long did he know?”
He rolls his eyes as he shakes his head at me.
“When she moved back to town when she was eighteen, she came in asking for a job. I was in charge of hiring back then. I hired her on the spot. When I told my dad her name, he was shocked.” He drags a chair in front of me, spins it, and sits backward on it. He rests his arms on the backrest of the chair as he stares at me.
“And?” I ask impatiently. He laughs as he pulls a pocketknife out. It clicks open, the sound echoing in the empty room. The only things in this room are the chair I’m strapped to, a table full of what I’m assuming are torture devices, a hook on a chain dangling from the ceiling, and a gallon of some sort of cleaner.
He flips the knife around his fingers before stabbing it into the top of the backrest.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he asks as he twirls the blade, pressing the tip deeper as he carves into the wood. I can see the glint of silver reflecting off the blade into his eyes. His pupils are blown wide. His eyes are rimmed red like he’s out of his fucking mind.
“She is…” I agree. He glares at me as I say the words.
She’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. It kills me every time I think of her now that I know who she really is, because I can never have her.
“She belongs to me,” he says with such arrogance that I can't help the scoff that comes out of me.
No sooner does the sound leave my lips, he shoots up, knocking the chair away. Hot, searing pain erupts across my chest. When I glance down, I can see the open cut in my shirt and the blood beginning to seep through it.
“You’re fucking psycho!” I scream as another wave of pain hits when I strain against my bindings.
“Thank you,” he laughs.
He leans closer, running the blade along my cheek. It’s sharp and slices open my skin like a hunter skins his kill. It burns like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but I still don’t scream from the pain. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“Where is she!?” I scream.
If he hurt a single hair on her fucking head, I’ll skin him alive. I’ve never been one for violence. My company has had to rough up a few celebrities’ stalkers over the years, but I have never been the one to do it. I prefer the mental torture over the physical.
“You want to see her?” he calmly asks as he tilts his head at me.
“I just want to know she’s okay.”
There’s that sickening smile again. Who the hell raised this kid? Jocko was never a sick, twisted fuck. Crazy? Yeah. A horny old bastard who went for women way out of his league? Sure. But he was a damn good guy. He cared about his club and the women here. He took care of them.
“Tell me what I want to know, and you can see her,” he says as he drags the chair back over in front of me. He sits normally in the chair now, facing me.
My stomach tightens as I hear another scream frombehind the door. He tilts his head, angling it as if he’s listening to a sweet melody and not someone screaming in pain.
“Why do you think I’m the one who killed him?”
He rolls his eyes again as he takes out his wallet. He pulls out a folded-up piece of paper. It’s worn and torn at the edges. He slowly opens it to show me. Scribbled in blood is a note.
Consider this a warning.
He tosses the note to the floor at my feet.
“Look familiar?” he hisses through clenched teeth.
“Honestly, no.”
“I feel like you aren’t understanding how completely fucked you are right now. Keep lying to me, Langston.” He pauses. He glances toward the door before looking back at me.
“Declan, I swear. I had nothing to do with Jocko’s murder!”
“He left to go find you! He said he needed to tell you she was back. Said you deserved to know.”
I can still feel the warmth from the blood leaking down the side of my face. He stands and leans over me, using the knife to cut the top two buttons off of my dress shirt before saying fuck it and grabbing the two sides to rip it open. Buttons go flying everywhere. He drags the knife up my ribs. A sharp pain follows the blade. When it reaches just above my heart, he presses the tip into my skin. I can feel the deep, agonizing pain slithering through my chest again. He stands and pulls the tip of the knife from my chest.
