Page 51 of Spook’s Honor

With my free hand, I roll up my balaclava. He’s still not going to know who I am, but I don’t give a fuck. It will mess with his mind.

“I don’t know you,” he stammers.

“Let me tell you,” I grin, pressing down with my knee. He wheezes as he tries to breath against the pressure.

Leaning forward I whisper in his ear, “I’m your niece’s man.” I press down harder with my knee. He grunts and gasps for breath. I hear a snap. His cry of pain is music to my ears.

Behind me, the whimper cuts off and Rowena curses. “You fucking, motherfucker. I’m going to kill you slowly and make you suffer.”

I hear rustling and Rowena talking softly, “I’ll be back sweetie.”

Sweetie? What the actual fuck.

Rowena comes stomping back and, in one swift move, yanks a knife from her boot and drives it straight through Mulally’s shoulder. He howls in agony, snot, and spit dribbling from his mouth. Not that either of us gives a shit.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“He’s got a fucking child locked in a cage in there. Bruises all over, thin as anything, doesn’t look more than two or three, although it’s hard to tell she’s so small,” Rowena growls incensed.

“A child,” I turned my attention back to him. “Who is she?”

He mutters something unintelligible under his breath. “What?” I demand.

“My daughter. She’s my daughter,” he stutters.

“Your daughter, you motherfucker,” Rowena stabs him again. “Where’s the key to her cage?”

I step away. I don’t feel like being stabbed, and I’m not getting in Rowena’s way. I don’t care how he dies, just that he dies. “Key,” she slices down his cheek when he doesn’t answer fast enough.

“Drawer,” he whimpers.

“Fucking coward,” she growls, leaning over him. “Bet you didn’t let up on your little girl, when she cried.” She slices his other cheek open with her blade before she opens the drawer and rummage’s around finding the key. “He’s all yours, boss.”

Pivoting she hurries back to the cupboard, and I hear her crooning to the little girl in there.

I turn back to the snivelling lump on the bed. He’s not even trying to escape. The stench of urine, sweat, and fear hangs thick in the room.

“You tortured your own daughter.” My disgust is clear in every word.

I pull the cover off the syringe, grip his hair, and jerk his head to the side, pinning it firmly against the pillow. My knee presses back into his chest, holding him down. I slide the needle into his neck and depress the plunger, injecting a lethal dose of insulin into his system.

It still isn’t enough.

I’m going to set his house on fire. He’ll die slowly and painfully, just like so many of the people he trafficked.

I step off the bed. Taking my gun from its holster, I hit him in the temple knocking him out.

“See baby. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Rowena says softly. “Spook took care of him.”

Turning I find Rowena behind me. Anger unfurls and I wish I could kill him again when I see the child in her arms. She’s dressed in a large t-shirt, she’s filthy, dark hair matted, bruises and burn marks on her legs and arms. She lifts her head from Rowena’s neck, crystal, blue eyes meet mine. And for the fourth time in my life, my heart takes a tumble. She’s the spitting image of Honor and Angel except instead of blonde hair she has brown.

She studies me, “Pook?”

“Hi, baby girl,” I say softly, not wanting to scare her.

Her eyes flit to the bed, and she cringes burying her face into Rowena’s neck. “He go?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, he can't hurt you anymore,” I reassure her. She nods but keeps her face buried.