I kept my eyes forward, hating that his touch warmed my insides. “He asked me what book I was reading.”
Enzo chuckled softly. “She makes jokes.” He clamped his hand around the back of my neck and shoved my face down untilmy nose nearly brushed the bloodstained tarp lying under Jett’s shoes.
I gagged at the smell and the sight.
“I’ll ask youone more time,” Enzo snarled, tugging my head up from the plastic, and I inhaled a deep breath as I came up for air.
My jaw, face,everythingached.
My plan for not fighting fell apart with every second.
But I’d tryone morething. I shoved my elbows back, blindly aiming for his groin. Every miss earned chuckles from him and Red Mask.
“He didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already known,” I spat. “That you’re a fucking psychopath.”
“Psychopath?” he scoffed, sounding almost amused. “Surely, you can be more creative than that.”
I curled my hands into fists as he reached into his pocket and pulled out scissors. My heart lurched, and I prepared myself for another haircut.
Why did he carry scissors around like I did my favorite lip gloss?
I made a mental note to brainstorm insults worse thanpsychopath.
But right now, I had bigger problems, like being trapped in a murder room, a severed finger lying inches from my knee, and a lunatic twirling scissors like someone would show off a luxury bag.
He stepped around me and drove the scissors into Jett’s hand. The metal punching through his flesh made a wet sound.
Jett wailed in agony.
“Stop it!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Just fucking stop it!”
Enzo ignored me, but his eyes never left mine as he forced the scissors deeper into Jett’s hand, like he wanted to hit every nerve ending.
“Do you know what I hate, Blair?” he asked casually.
I didn’t hesitate to reply, “Sanity. Empathy. Being a decent human being?”
He laughed under his breath and flicked the scissors handle. “Liars.” He pushed the blade deeper into Jett’s hand. “I despise liars.”
“He didn’t lie.” I rubbed at my wrists, the zip ties making my skin raw every time I moved. “You killed his sister.”
“Ah.” Enzo made a light-bulb-moment gesture. “You believe I gave Clarissa the window treatment.” Not one scrap of empathy was in his tone, only humor. He whipped his venomous stare to Jett. “Is that what you told her, fuckface?”
Jett struggled to suck in air and speak through the blood clogging his throat.
“Blair, do you believe Jett is a victim?” Enzo asked me.
“You murdered his sister and also have him tied to a chair,” I shot back. “Pretty clear who the victim here is.” My voice grew colder. “He’s the victim, andyou’rethe tormentor.”
Deep down, I hated that I couldn’t see Enzo’s face.
I wanted to see his changing expressions as he spoke.
The shapes of his smirks and frowns.
That stupid mask hid too much.
“You believe Jett is an innocent man, then?” He circled me slowly.
