A blood-curdling wail cuts the air. We look at the tortured man hanging from the car lift, the upper half of his body angling upwards while he braces against the wrist bindings. It’s like a scene from a horror movie, his body unnaturally angled, spine making such a sharpUit’s a miracle it hasn’t snapped yet.
“It fit,” I comment. “I didn’t think it would.”
“You learn something new every day,” Koby laughs, the sound devoid of humor. “I think he likes it.” He points between Amadeus’s legs where his cock is hard, precum dripping from the tip. “I thought torture wasn’t supposed to feel good.”
“A straight, homophobic guy is orgasming while being raped with a Bourbon bottle,” Arthur narrates the scene, his tonefull of hatred. “Believe me, his body might be reacting to the stimulation, but he’snotenjoying this. I’m pretty sure he’d cut his own throat if you gave him a knife.”
“The one covered in his shit?” Koby asks, tone bitter because his gift has been violated. “He can swallow it for all I care. It’s not like we’ll use it again.”
I turn around, setting my glass down beside my open laptop, quickly checking the software running in the background. It’s been trying to locate Bianca for two months without success.
I asked Jackson for help last week, but even with another pair of hands on deck, we’re still looking for one girl in a country inhabited by almost three hundred and thirty-five million people.
One consolation is that Bianca and Vaughn haven’t crossed the border. The face-recognition software would’ve caught it. Either from border control cameras or passport photo scans.
Bianca and Vaughn are still in America, but the longer I look, the less probable it seems I’ll find them.
“Why do you think Vaughn’s taken her on the run?” Koby asks, jutting his chin at my laptop. “It doesn’t make sense. She’s not in danger, right? Why drag her along?”
“Just because Carter doesn’t pose a threat, it doesn’t mean Noretto or Grey aren’t after her.”
“Why would they be? She’s not part of this world. She’s only connected via Vaughn and Hailey, and she doesn’t even know them. Vaughn already gave Octavius the evidence. He has nothing left to give, so why run? Why drag the girl with him?”
I’ve been thinking about this for a while. “She’s his insurance policy, I guess. There’s no way anyone can grab Hailey, but Bianca... she doesn’t have the security Hailey does, and she can be used as blackmail.”
I run a hand through my hair, distracting myself from the screaming, whimpering guy thirty feet away. Arthur’s right handmoves back and forth, his fingers grasping the neck of the bottle as it fucks Amadeus fast and hard.
I’ve witnessed a lot of gore in my life. Elaborate torture methods, murders, blood, death... you’d think I’d have a limit. To be fair, I thoughtthiswould be it.
But Amadeus opened his mouth, proving me wrong.
The homophobic slur he spewed earlier hit hard. Added one more unforgivable sin to the list. And if being a homophobic piece of shit who rapes women isn’t enough, when Apollo came by an hour ago with more Bourbon, Amadeus proved he’s also a racist. He deserves every second of this torture. He’s still not getting a fraction of what he dished out to Violet.
Forgive me if I’m having a hard time mustering an ounce of sympathy for the guy. Let him scream. Maybe this lesson will mesh with his soul, and he’ll reincarnate as a decent person.
I down the last of my Bourbon. Broadway immediately fetches another bottle, filling my glass to the brim like he knows I need some numbing.
“You should quit that shit,” I tell him when he shoves a cigarette between his lips. “You want to reek of smoke when you’re holding your baby?”
He pauses, pinning me with a pointed stare. “I have time.”
The whimpers cease for a few seconds before a guttural groan fills the room. Amadeus comes, emptying his load on the filthy floor, his body shaking with the orgasm. It’s probably shaking with fear and exhaustion too.
“What’s next, Broadway?” Arthur asks, checking the metal table for options.
Before Broadway can bark out instructions, his phone interrupts the moment.
“Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” he answers immediately, eyebrows shrinking in concern. The hint of worry disappears, replaced by pinched lips holding his smile at bay. “Sure. Giveme twenty minutes.” He cuts the call, turning to Arthur. “Keep him here until you’ve tried everything on the table. If he loses consciousness, there are a few boosters in the bag.” He points toward said bag. “One injection will keep him awake for six hours. Don’t overdo it or his heart will give up. We don’t want that. I’ll be back within the hour. Keep him alive.”
Arthur nods, yanking his latex gloves off and heading across the warehouse to a small restroom. The water starts running, followed by furious scrubbing. He emerges five minutes later, drying his hands and arms with paper towels.
Broadway’s long gone, the smirk on his face as he left enough to explain why Violet summoned him home. The girl is insatiable these days, horny and hormonal. Broadway hit the jackpot with the random-hour booty calls.
He’s her personal fuckboy and absolutely loves it. Given how long it took Violet to enjoy sex again, I can’t blame him for being at her every beck and call.
“You think you can spare a glass of that?” Arthur asks, pointing at the Bourbon bottle. The full one Apollo brought, not the one he was using on Amadeus.
Arthur’s not as pale as he was when he arrived. An hour of torture must’ve hardened him up a bit.
