“So what do you suggest?” he asked, his grip on my shoulder tightening a fraction. “We let Catalina go?”
Like hell that would ever fucking happen. She was as permanently engraved in our lives as the fucking eight-pointed star on my left pec.
My teeth gritted even thinking about letting her go. The only way she would ever get away from us, was in a fucking body bag, and if I had anything to say about it, it would never happen. I planned for her to outlive us all.
“I thought so,” Damien said unemotionally but looking at him, I could see the glint in his dark eyes that told me he felt the same way.
I shrugged off his touch and walked away without saying anything more. I didn’t even know where I was going until I found myself at the door that led down to the basement.
I walked down without a thought.
Muffled cries filled the air, mixed with the tangy scent of blood and death.
I walked directly to the cell in the far corner.
The man chained to the wall saw me and let out a small whimper, trying to back away.
There was no way out. Not for any one of the suki held there, but especially for this man.
“Please,” he cried. “Just kill me already.”
I smiled, baring my teeth. “But we were just having fun.”
He cried softly in the silent room. I took off my shirt. The fucker didn’t deserve to stain it with his blood, and with the mood I was in, it was going to get fucking bloody, fucking fast.
I walked over to the small table against the left side of the room, my hand hovering over the weapons—so many choices. I had to be careful and not give in to what he wanted. Death would be too easy on him.
My hand found sandpaper.
An overlooked tool, but fuck, if used right, it was messy and personal.
And I was feeling a little personal.
I turned to him.
The chain rattled when he tried to back away.
“Fuck, please,” he begged, like the fucking coward that he was.
“What was that you were planning on doing when you had Catalina pressed down on the mattress with that son of a bitch holding up his phone? Didn’t he say something about filming? Why don’t you tell me in exact detail what he wanted to film?”
He shook his head, his tears mixed with his blood from when Damien had his fun.
“No? It’s okay if you don’t feel like talking right now. I can be very persuasive.”
He shook his head. “W-wait. Please?”
“Wait for what?” I asked, a tinge of amusement in my voice. Fuck, this was where I excelled. Nikolay might work as the enforcer for the Bratva, but there was something addictive about torturing someone slowly and making them bleed. For a moment, it felt like all my demons weren’t working against me but fucking praising me.
All the fucking messy shit with Catalina …
That was hard. So fucking hard. And I didn’t like the rush of emotions running through my veins whenever she turned those big brown eyes of hers my way.
I didn’t know where to begin with her. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where the fucking line was. It wasn’t like me to care about personal boundaries, but I didn’t want to push her so fucking hard, that she’d end up hating me.
That was a problem, because every time I looked at her, all I wanted to do was obliterate the line. Push her to her limit, and fucking make her stay right by my fucking side, no matter what.
My fist clenched around the sandpaper, and I didn’t want to waste my time with Henry fucking Ramos anymore. He was Damien’s to kill but fuck if I wasn’t going to have my fun beforehand.