Jacobs shut up.
Cassie drew up beside me, her arms loosely folded and her eyes narrowed. “Salter here held auctions of his own. He sold women Jacobs couldn’t, plus more. None of it voluntary. Meaning he was a scumlord of the highest order. From my understanding of it, Jacobs had the contacts from his small-scale business selling schoolgirls to rich men.” She brandished her knife at Jacobs once more, this time, inscribing an A.
Her artist’s palette screamed, trying his best to sink into the chair and away from the blade. “You’re right. I knew the buyers. I worked out who to ask.”
She positioned the knife to start the next letter. “You chose Austin Marchant? What did ye need from him?”
Salter uttered a dangerous sound. “Answer that and you’re dead.”
Cassie waggled her head. “I mean,you’realmost certainly going to die, but Jacobs might be salvageable. If he talks.”
“It was the demand,” Jacobs immediately sputtered. “I couldn’t keep up. I started with girls at school who wanted to sell their virginity, but there was never enough of them. I needed more so turned to Salter. He had access to women, brought in from the continent. He’d keep their passports so they had no choice but to obey us or he’d hand them over to the police. I started to sell them, too.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Salter snarled.
Cassie eyed Riordan. Her boyfriend stepped up to Salter and bound his mouth in a swift move, leaving the man only able to moan.
She smiled a quick thanks then focused once more on the chatty one. “So Salter had the girls you needed. Did it never bother ye that they were forced?”
Jacobs took on a brief stricken expression then hung his head. “No. Pussy is pussy, isn’t it? No harm done to be used by one or a hundred cocks. It’s just good business sense. Don’t know why more women don’t do it.”
At least he was honest.
I took up the questioning. “So what next? Why bring in a man who could expose you?”
We needed to know this. Though Mila had been mostly quiet since we’d been in here, I felt the urgency in her. The revelations about Austin had torn her apart.
Yet Jacobs thinned his lips. “I told you about my business. Anything else isn’t on me.”
Behind me, Heretic melted off the wall.
Without a word, he stepped in, took Jacobs’ hand, and bent his thumb back until it snapped.
Jacobs screamed.
Heretic didn’t stop. He reset his grip and pressed down on the broken joint.
Nausea rose inside me. I forced myself not to react.
On the floor next to him, Salter winced and moved away, the chain restricting him.
Heretic leaned in to Salter, voice low enough it barely carried. “Your friend here seems to feel the need to be quiet around you. Can’t have that.”
He increased the pressure until something else cracked. Jacobs’ head lolled, the pain rendering him unconscious.
Salter watched, sweat breaking across his brow, then blinked his gaze to the floor.
Heretic tugged the constraint from Salter’s mouth. “What a shame, he’s out. Over to you.”
Salter dragged in a breath. Then laughed. “You think pain is new to me? I’ve been here for fuck knows how long. You think your crew didn’t try every trick already?”
Yet he’d reacted to the other man’s torture.
Idly, Heretic picked up the unconscious man’s destroyed hand. He shook it, the thumb flopping. “Pain is a language. One I’m fluent in.”
I stared at Salter. Same as me, he’d averted his gaze.
Odd how quickly Heretic had found the man’s weakness.
