Page 72 of Betrothed in Fury
“The raid on our warehouse two weeks ago.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wilmore insists, and unlike Hartlow, his expression wavers slightly, revealing where their weakness lies.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You killed seven of my guys, and now the underworld thinks we’re easy targets. So it’s our job to remind everyone that the Lordes and Wildes are far from that.”
“We haven’t done anything,” Hartlow tries again. “You’re going after the wrong guys.”
He’s too damn convincing, which makes me wonder if this was done at Wilmore’s bidding rather than a sanctioned, unified attack from the Cronkites.
“Why the hell do you even think it’s us?” Hartlow asks.
“Did you really think we’d believe it was the Raiders simply because you put some swag on them? We’ve traced one of the attackers to you.”
“Who?”
“Dar Crane.”
“He could’ve been doing a side gig. Or maybe we’ve been set up.”
My instincts tell me Hartlow truly doesn’t know anything, or at least not much. Wilmore, on the other hand, is hiding something, and it’s only a matter of time before we get to the bottom of this.
The door opens, and I hear Jaime leading the cart over to me. It’s something I would normally keep between me and my victims, but I don’t mind Logan seeing this side of me. If anything, I owe him this much after what he shared with me when he brutalized Sik Vik. Jaime parks the cart beside Hartlow, who eyes Old Terror’s toys with horror.
“Oh God! Oh fuck no. You have to believe us.”
“It’s too late for what any of us believe,” I say. “The good news is, if neither of you knows anything, I’ll know the truth once I’m finished, and then I won’t have to punish the rest of the Cronkites.”
I kind of feel bad for Hartlow, but I’m too bloodthirsty to sympathize. A confession will be made tonight, even if it’s only lies they hope may spare them some pain, but no amount of pleading will relieve their suffering.
I step toward the cart, a jolt of adrenaline sweeping through me, this sadistic part of me that wishes I could pull these out more often. I turn to Logan, noticing a glint in his eyes, asthough he wants to play with them too. I’m tempted to invite him, but because of what he did with Sik Vik, I have something to prove to him. I squat down and open the bottom drawer, retrieving the defibrillator and setting it on the top tray.
“What the hell is that for?” Hartlow asks. Sweat is already forming on his forehead, which pulls my lips into a smile.
“You should see it as an honor.” I grab a cable noose and take it over to Wilmore, hooking it around his neck and tugging it snug. “Most people only get to die once in their lives. But not you two. We will see just how many lives you have in you.”
I selected Wilmore first since he’s the more likely to crack, but I glare at Hartlow so he’ll see the quiet assurance that he’ll get his turn for me to test his honesty or lack thereof.
As Hartlow’s eyes widen, I know just how evil I am by how it thrills me to see his terror.
“You’re not getting anything out of us,” Wilmore says, “because we don’t know anything.”
I tighten the noose, this time without restraint, hearing acrackas I put pressure on his windpipe. “I hope for your sake that’s not true because that just means it will last so much longer.”
He’s managed to save face so far, but fear flashes in his eyes, and oh, the way it brings me to life, awakening this monster within me.
25
LOGAN
Killian wasn’t kiddingwhen he said he would find out how many lives these guys had in them. At least when it comes to Wilmore. It must be two hours since he began his reign of terror, unleashing his all. There have been moments when I considered intervening as he’s gone between his various torture contraptions, both men pleading for my help, hoping for a hint of mercy. And while I sympathize with Hartlow’s terror, I suspect Wilmore knows more than he’s let on, and I won’t be satisfied until we get answers.
Wilmore and Hartlow lie limp on the floor. It was pointless keeping them strung up after he broke their knees. And now, as Killian places the defibrillator against Wilmore’s chest a third time, I’m certain he went too far, that there’s no chance of getting intel from him and that the best we’ll be able to do is give the Cronkites a scare.
I’m shocked when Wilmore wakes with a start, gasping for air. He’s so bloody, it looks like someone dumped a bucket on him.
“I can be merciful,” Killian says, straining the noose around his neck once more, stopping Wilmore from getting a decent breath in since he was resurrected. “I can let you end this with what dignity you have left. But you need to tell me why you sent those men.”
Hartlow whimpers, moaning out as Wilmore finally breaks, “Because I’m not who you think I am.”
