I take a last look at Sheridan and know she is in safe hands. We are not going to get anything coherent out of her, at least not for a while.
The only person who can tell me anything about what I want to know is currently crying out in agony. It becomes obvious why when we enter and close the door.
Martinez has done some serious damage in the two minutes it took us to follow them in here. I harden my resolve and force out the panic and fear I feel for Sheridan, and any thoughts of people back home. This piece of shit is going to die, how slow or fast depends on him.
“Get him up,” I tell Martinez. Even though he was salty outside, he doesn’t question me now and drags the man up. “Who brought that woman to you?”
He snarls but doesn’t answer. Fairs fair, he manages a place like this, doesn’t care what happens to the women that are dragged in here, it’s time he feels even an ounce of their pain.
I kick him right between his legs, so hard he throws up all down the front of his shirt. Behind me I hear Camden curse and Martinez laugh.
“Why did you bring that woman here? Who told you to take her?” I shout.
No reply, so I punch him in the gut. It goes on for a full five minutes of me asking and him not replying. Each time I hit him harder. He is coughing up blood before he finally begs me to stop.
“Did you or any of the sick mother fuckers you brought in here stop when they begged?” I scream in his face. “Did you ever give them mercy when they cried and screamed and asked for it to end?”
He shakes, snot, blood and tears running down his ruined face.
“This is your last chance. Who told you to bring her here?”
He pants and says something. I glance back when Martinez pats my shoulder. He holds out a knife. It’s a serrated hunting knife with a well-worn handle. Knives aren’t my thing but I take it and turn back to the sniveling piece of shit.
“Name.”
“Storm… stor….” His head hangs.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I shout and stab the end of the knife into the meat of his thigh, making him scream. “Where the fuck is he?”
“Wes…west Virginia.”
“That’s a pretty big fucking place, right?” I look at Martinez.
“Really big,” he agrees.
Pulling out the knife, I stab it into his other leg and he screams again. “Where?”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Hate to break it to you,” I cock my head. “He isn’t going to get the chance. This can be quick, or it can go on for hours. My friend here will tie you up, drive you somewhere nice and quiet and slice you apart, piece by fucking piece, slowly, painfully and you will fucking wish I showed you mercyhere.”
I’ve no clue if Martinez would do that. He strikes me as a hard ass, but I don’t think he would enjoy something like that. Even Stryker has his limits.
“Romney,” he chokes out.
I’ve never heard of it. Camden pulls out his phone, holds it up when he has a map of West Virginia. It looks to be a couple hundred miles away from Baltimore.
“That’s all I know… I swear to God. I don’t know where, just the town,” he gasps as I rip the knife out of his leg. “I swear, I swear, fuck just, believe me… He told me to bring her here and mess her up. When I asked how long, he said… he said keep her…. He didn’t care if,” he chokes on some blood.
“Go on,” I encourage him.
“If she died. He didn’t care.”
“Well, I guess that is something we have in common,” I snarl, then push the knife into his stomach right up to the hilt. His mouth drops open, and he tries to scream but he doesn’t have the breath to do it. “Burn in hell you piece of shit,” I twist the knife and drag it upwards. He jerks and drops to the floor, I still have hold of the knife and my hand is covered in blood.
