My phone buzzes.
THORN: That was a mistake and you know it.
ME: I’m feeling pretty safe with my rotating security guards in every direction.
THORN: I don’t make idle threats. You will not enjoy your next punishment.
My stomach drops. Yeah. I definitely just poked the beast. My heart races and my abdomen rolls over. “I might need another set of bodyguards.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Thorn
A wave of ire surges within me, staining my thoughts red. I return to the man I have strapped in a chair who’s bleeding from a cut in his eyebrow from a simple backhand. The blood drips into his eye and he keeps blinking to clear it. I removed all of his clothing before I bound him, and he’s shivering from the cold.
I crunch on another hot mint, not wanting to taste even a hint of his words.
He sees me approach and stiffens, fighting the restraints securing his wrists to the arms of the chair and his feet to the bolts in the ground.
We’re alone in my boathouse, and the scent of the waves crashing below adds to the smell of salt and blood. I reach for a different knife from the one I used on Alana the night before—it’s sacred to me now. “Where were we, Nelson?” I ask calmly.
He twists against the restraints, bleeding from several areas. Oh, I haven’t sliced anything important yet. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
Actually, he hasn’t told me shit. “What are you? About forty?” I ask, spinning the weapon around in the air.
His gaze tracks the blade. “Forty-four.”
“You know jack about women?” I look at his bare feet.
“Sure. I’m happy to help.” He’s getting a bit of his spirit back.
I drop the knife directly on his big toe.
He shouts, his face turning purple. “No—” he starts when I reach down, yank the knife free, and his toe rolls away. “God. Why are you doing this?”
“God has nothing to do with this,” I say thoughtfully, anger churning in my gut. How dare Alana emote another video about me. Wasn’t I clear? “Women don’t make sense. What is it with her that she doesn’t believe I’ll keep my word?”
“Maybe she’s testing you,” he groans, scrunching his other four toes on the rocky floor.
I look at him. Maybe she wants me to punish her. To prove that I will and I mean what I say. The woman certainly needs boundaries. “That’s a thought, Nelson.” I wipe the blade on his bare thigh. “Why did you target little Julie McDonald? The girl who fell out of the van?”
He somehow shrinks into himself. “I saw her and had a buyer for her. Right age.” He sniffs. “Didn’t mean to drop her from the van.”
My fury goes ice cold. “Was she targeted because of her family? Because they work for me?”
He shakes his head wildly. “No. Didn’t know who she was or that her dad works for you. I swear, it was a coincidence. I’m so sorry.”
Not yet, but he will be. So at least nobody is targeting the kids of my men. One bright spot in this shitty situation. “Where did you get the kids you gave to the losers on the street?”
He flinches. “I told you about your girl. Why do you even care about other kids?”
It’s a fair question. “My brother and I were taken as kids and tortured. Our mom was killed. The experience haunts me.” Honesty is a rule with me, and I employ it unless circumstances are dire. “This helps keep the ghosts at bay.”
“Torturing people?” Snot bubbles at his nose.
“Yeah.” I crouch to better see the wound close to his right armpit. “People who hurt kids and women . . .” I shrug. “I figure if I can keep others from being hurt, then maybe I’m making it up to them somehow.”
He blinks more blood from his eye. “Your mom and brother?”
I nod.
“That’s fucked, man.”
Yes, it is. I slide the knife into him above his protruding right hipbone, and something eases inside me. A pain dissipates. It’s temporary, but I’ll take it.
He sucks in air and bites through his bottom lip as if determined not to scream this time.
I admire that. Not a lot. “The kids, Nelson.”
“There’s a whole pipeline, man. Don’t you get it? It’s so easy these days.”
It’s always been easy to take advantage of the young and weak. I pull out the knife but his flesh tries to keep it in. He isn’t as strong this time and cries out.
“I like symmetry.” I plunge the knife into his other hip. “Keep talking.”
He coughs, tears filling his eyes. “About eighty thousand kids have gone missing from the southern border. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, man. The government has no clue and frankly doesn’t care where they are.”
“But you do. At least some of them.” I reclaim my knife.
