Hillabrand’s face went blank. He’d heard of this one.
Harley set the heavy toolbox down on the table with a thud, then popped it open. Inside, everything was laid out: hammers, pliers, a bag of six-inch nails. Harley handed me one.
Hillabrand’s hands were so swollen and red, he could barely make fists.
I lined the nail up with his right palm, just below the base of his thumb.
“You want to make this easy, you tell me now,” I said, holding the nail and the hammer. “Otherwise, this is going all the way through.”
He closed his eyes. “Fuck you.”
I did it in one hit.
The sound was unreal—a wet smack, metal against bone and flesh. The nail sunk deep, and Hillabrand screamed, this time high and wild. His whole body arched against the chair, ropes straining.
I wrenched the hammer free and admired the work. Blood welled up around the metal, dark and sticky.
Harley grinned, leaning in. “You know, you could make a game out of this.”
I didn’t answer, just lined up the second nail on his left hand and hammered it down. This time the scream was weaker, more of a broken gasp. His head lolled to the side like he was running out of steam.
I let him sit there, bleeding, panting, dripping sweat and snot and tears. Blood was pooling on the floor under the chair as I gave him a minute to catch his breath.
Harley knelt down next to him. “You got a bullet wound yet, Agent? I bet you’d rather take a slug than another round with our boss here.”
Hillabrand blinked up at me, face pale, lips trembling. “You can do whatever you want. I’m not giving you the name.”
I exhaled, feeling a weird kind of respect. I almost didn’t want to break him.
But I had to.
I circled behind the chair, glancing at Harley. “Let’s try the teeth.”
Harley nodded, reached into the bag, and pulled out the pliers.
“Wait,” Hillabrand croaked before he finally caught his breath. His voice was raspy, but the words were clear and precise as he shredded my very being.
“Elin Perkins.”
I don’t remember swinging, but a moment later, I was huffing loudly and pain radiated up my body, while Hillabrand now sported a split lip. “You lie.”
Without thinking, I reached out, grabbed the hammer, and drove one of the nails further into his hand, causing it to all but disappear through the flow of blood. I stood back, and my gaze met Harley’s. His eyes mirrored the confusion in mine.
My Goddess? She wouldn’t. We . . .
“It’s true. However, she stopped giving me anything months ago, saying she had a change of heart and wasn’t going to tell me shit. I’ve had to find things out on my own. Follow the breadcrumbs.”
“And what breadcrumbs did you find after her supposed change of heart?”
His breathing started to normalize as he slowly lifted his eyes to meet my fierce gaze. “You are trying to get your sister, Rhea, out of the state to escape an arranged marriage to the Juarez family in San Diego.”
Fuck! If the asshole in front of me was able to find that out, there was no way to know if my father had as well. Pacing back and forth, I tried to avoid dwelling on the fact Elin was a mole.
“What else do you know?”
He silenced himself at that point, refusing to give up anything else.
I circled the chair where Hillabrand sat, bound with zip ties and duct tape. The basement's concrete floor was already splattered with dark patches of his blood. His FBI badge lay on the metal table beside my tools.
