I forced myself to stop rehashing those ridiculous couch thoughts.Tried to concentrate on something else, but the garage was dull. The only sound was the sound of rain. It'd been pouring since the morning. You could hear it from inside the car, the light pounding on the concrete walls.
Kimmy's face swam into focus. I cursed under my breath, ground my teeth, pressed the handle of the knife into my palm, let the cold edge remind me where I was. In the rearview, I could see myself, a silhouette with no face, the bandana over my nose and mouth, and the hood up. Standard intimidation protocol, but I liked how it stripped the scene down to just the basics. Predator. Prey.
Viper and I had been observing the redhead's activities for a few days now. His intel indicated on Thursday, she took a taxi once more to Club Dionisius to meet with the target. However, she always used her own car for personal errands.
She showed up in the parking lot a few minutes after eight. Her attire was obviously meant for a dinner date, validating Viper's information that she was involved with someone outside her club engagements. She yanked the driver's door open and slid into her seat without a second thought.
As the engine coughed and caught, I eased the blade up and pressed it to the soft place between her jaw and the tendon at her throat. I didn't intend on hurting her, but this was the proven way to get information fast. I had no time to waste.
She went rigid. No scream. Just a full-body freeze, eyes wide. She looked for me in the rearview mirror.
"Don't do anything stupid," I said.
She kept both hands on the wheel.
"Understand?" I asked.
She swallowed, slow and deliberate, like every millimeter of movement could cost her. Then she nodded.
"You're going to tell me about Club Dionisius and Caius Valmont."
Her face went ashen in the mirror.
"I'm dead anyway," she squealed. "If I open my mouth. I don't care if you kill me now."
I pressed the tip of the blade a fraction deeper. "You do care because no one else will take care of your sister after you're gone. Certainly not Valmont."
Her face broke at that. Not much, just a tightening around the eyes. But that was all I needed.
I waited.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
"I told you what I want."
She hesitated before speaking. "Can you guarantee my sister's safety?"
I kept the knife where it was. With my free hand, I reached into my pocket and slid the envelope forward, letting it drop onto the passenger side. "Check inside."
She reached with her left hand, dragged the envelope into her lap, thumbed it open.
The silence was squeezing the air out of the car.
She slowly sifted the contents. First, the passport. She flicked through the pages, saw the new photo, the new name. Her breath hitched, the tiniest sound. Then the rehab paperwork—legit, signed, dated, for a rehab center across the country. Her jaw set. Last, she flipped to the stack of bills, rubber-banded hundreds. She looked at my reflection in the rearview, finally. She looked hard.
"Insurance is taken care of as well," I said. "The facility is real. If anything happens to you, she's taken care of."
Her eyes flicked down to the envelope, then back to me. "How do I know this isn't bullshit?"
"You don't," I said. "But you can call the facility and the insurance tomorrow morning and verify."
The silence drew out. Her right hand crept to the collar of her coat, tugged it higher. Her sleeve slid up. That's when I saw the bruises—angry, dark, ringed around her wrist. Not old, either. Less than a week.
"Did Valmont do that to you?" I asked.
She hesitated. "It's consensual."
"Sure."
