“Almost ten years.” The words are clipped. Final, as if there’s a vault behind them, and he’s not about to give me the combination.
“Okay.” I don’t push.
Sterling stirs. His eyes flutter open, and the second he registers me, he’s screaming into the gag, thrashing against the chains.
“Hey you,” I chirp, and that makes his panic bloom even faster. His gaze darts over my shoulder, landing on the masked figure behind me and the scream pitches higher, frantic, and I almost smile.
“He’s the least of your problems, Sterling.”
I pick up one of the knives from the table. My fingers slide along the edge until I feel it cut through my skin, and a bead of blood swells and slides down to the floor.
The masked man moves, quiet, fast, and his hand closes over mine.
“These aren’t from Knives ’R’ Us,” he murmurs, easing the blade from my grip. He lifts the mask just enough to show me his mouth. His strong jawline, the curve of his lips, the ink crawling up his throat. Before I can breathe he takes my finger into his mouth, histongue smoothing over the cut, licking the blood from my skin.
My pulse hammers, breath tangles in my chest. I should push him away, but my body doesn’t listen, his presence is everywhere, pressing into me without even touching, and I hate how much I want to lean into it.
“There.” He releases me, pulls the mask back down. “No more blood.”
Holy shit.
I turn back to Sterling, reclaiming the knife, trying to steady my breathing. I move closer and let the blade’s edge kiss his cheek, slow enough that his skin shivers before it splits.
“Two years ago,” I say, voice low, “you raped a girl with your friends. A night out at a party. You drugged her. You blackmailed her, not for money, not for leverage but just to prove you could destroy someone and walk away untouched.”
He thrashes harder, but the chains sing as they hold him. His scream rattles against the gag, panic thrumming through the room. I press the blade deeper, watching the blood run warm down his neck.
“Well, tonight…” My eyes lock on his, unblinking. “I’m here to prove you were wrong.”
He keeps screaming, like they always do. Begging, promising to change, and pleading for mercy, but mercyis for saints,and I’m not here to save him.
I’m here to drag him to hell.
“I wonder how many more you raped over the years—”
“Twenty-one.”
The number slices through me like a blade. I whip my head toward him. “What?” My voice is all bite. “Twenty-one?”
My gaze snaps back to Sterling, hatred lighting up every muscle in my body. I reach for the knife before I even realize I’m moving, the weight solid and familiar in my palm. I’m ready to bury it in his chest but a gloved hand closes over mine. His body is right there, pressing into my back, heat bleeding through the mask, leather and Kevlar. His other hand settles on my hip, fingers curling with possession. His breath ghosts my ear, warm, low.
“Let’s make him suffer, hellcat.”
His grip tightens, not to stop me, but to guide me, to draw this out.
“Start with the eye,” he murmurs. “It’s slower. He’ll feel every second.”
Sterling thrashes, muffled screams spiking, but the man behind me doesn’t flinch. Instead, he’s steady, anchored, like we have all the time in the world.
“Breathe,” he says, his voice curling through me. “Don’t waste your anger all at once. Make it last.”
My cheeks heat and I nod.
Eidolon, or whatever his real name is, steps away only to circle like a wolf, coming up behind Sterling. One hand fists in his hair, jerking his head back until his neck strains, the other pries his eyelid wide. The gag turns Sterling’s scream into something ugly and desperate, but Eidolon’s breathing stays even.
He turns his masked face toward me, silent, waiting.
The scalpel glints under the light, my fingers curl around it, the handle warm in my grip, and I step into Sterling’s line of sight.
