CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GAGE
R age is my second skin.
It’s like a fucking weighted blanket or one of those hideous Snuggies. Sweet, wearable comfort that hugs in all the right places.
I’m standing eight feet underground, and I’m about to be all warm and fuzzy.
But for a beat, I sip my bourbon and coffee, take a bite out of the celebratory beignet I picked up while we were out, and grin at the three douchebags strung up before me. Naked as the day they were born. For their mothers’ sakes, I hope to hell they weren’t this ugly then.
Dust to dust.
Ainsley was kept for observation at the hospital for another twenty-four hours after she vomited. That little episode left the doctors more concerned. Explaining that the pizzelles were the culprit fell on deaf ears, but I wasn’t mad that they took the extra precaution. It gave us all more peace of mind when we brought her home this afternoon.
She’s resting with the other girls for a lazy night of audio porn. Sorry—spicy audiobooks.
Call a fucking spade a spade.
Anyway, as a stellar fucking layer of icing on the Wicked-is-awake-and-in-love-with-me cake, Ty and Liam tracked down Tony Vittori within hours. The moron stuck around. We assume he was hoping to catch a glimpse of Ainsley freaking out from realizing it had been him harassing her. Fucking psycho.
I bet he’s rethinking that decision.
Liam wanders in, soaking in the scene. “How the hell can you eat with the goddamn stench in here, Big Guy?”
These assholes are messy fucking houseguests, so he has a point. Although two of them have been chained up here for nearly three days. Poor hygiene is expected.
“I’ve never been hungrier.” I emit a guttural, beastly rumble as I chomp into my treat.
The sound makes Levi—the one who shot Ainsley—narrow his eyes and our resident psycho tremble.
“Fuck, this is gonna be fun.” I cackle as Wells and Ty waltz into our underground bunker. “And the gang’s all here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ty seethes with a demented smile that puffs me up like a proud papa.
He’s been livid since I told him about Ainsley saying her marriage was the equivalent of daily rape. But it’s all intensified these last few days. The panic written on her face when she noticed the pizzelles was his final straw. He probably has ten damn holes in his cheeks.
“Me neither,” Wells chimes, glaring at my pastry. “What is this fucking kindergarten? You having snack time first?”
The Chief is all business when it comes to our debriefings. No goddamn patience. I like to relish the artistry of my interrogation. And it’s my fucking party.
“Nah, I’m keeping with the vibe of our La Lune Noire meeting. Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.” I smirk, arching my brow as I stuff the rest of the beignet in my mouth and wash it down with my bourbon coffee.
Wells chuckles, but since I appreciate him being here, I pick up my pace, set my grenade-shaped mug down, and stroll over to our esteemed guests, ripping the tape off their mouths so we can get to it. Gags were necessary because we didn’t want them getting their stories straight while we were at the hospital.
Levi and Mateo—the other foot soldier—have been stripped, gagged, bound, and in the dark for days. Tony has only had a rough twenty-four hours, but nothing compared to the other two. I’d expect one of them to squeal first, if they have information. Sometimes, people surprise me though. Sometimes.
Tony spits at me the second the tape rips. “Fucking Ricci scum.”
I’ll let him have his moment. I’ve got big plans for him.
“That’s no way to greet an old friend,” I chide, digging my knuckles into his battered ribs—the guys kicked them all around a bit. “How long’s it been, cocksuckers? Eleven years? I’d ask for a kiss on both cheeks, but not with your shriveled dicks out.”
That’s what makes this so extraordinary. Not their revolting dicks. The fact that I knew these dipshits, ran in the same circles, and strived for the same scraps and commendations from Fulvio Morelli. Tony is a bit outside of that, but as the middle Vittori brother, he was skulking around. In the shadow of his older brother, Theo, but not permitted to pursue other endeavors. Stuck. I’m betting that’s going to factor into whatever this shit with Ainsley is.
They still see me as Josh Ricci though—a foot soldier with no damn power—so first things first.
“Mateo, how you been?” I fill up my pockets with a few items before plucking the pruning shears off my display table and tapping his chains.
His eyes widen, and his breathing grows shallow, but he still chooses a dick response. Albeit without any bite since he’s spent. “I’m not talking, asshole. Not to a lowlife Ricci. And I’m not about to help that traitorous whore. That’s all that cunt’s ever been good for.”
That’s expected. It’s his best move, pretending he has something of value in the hopes of staying alive. He knows the other two will be painted as far guiltier. And that’s his only shot at mercy. Smart.
Calling Ainsley a whore ? A cunt ? Suicidal.
“That’s fair, buddy. Thanks for letting me know.” With that, I wrench a pair of pliers out of my pocket, grip on to his tongue with them because it’s a slippery sucker, stretch it out, and cut it off with my pruning shears while he squawks like a pig.
Blood spurts from his mouth like one of those chocolate fountains, covering me from my neck to feet. Tongues are bleeders and not generally severed until the end of an interrogation. But keeping things fresh is nice.
“That better, Chief?” I release the slimy organ from the pliers, flip it over in my hand like a coin, and pitch it to Wells, spouting the same sentiment he often extends when tossing me body parts. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
He catches it with a wink. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Big Guy.”
Liam plops into one of our folding chairs, lounging the way he tends to do, his limbs spread wide. “Christ, I’ve fucking missed this. We don’t do shit together anymore.”
Ty takes the seat beside him with a chuckle. “We’re together every fucking day. We work out for hours each morning, just the four of us.”
Liam scoffs, waving his hand toward the wailing Mateo. “I don’t mean running until we puke. I mean this shit. Bonding.”
That has the four of us howling, the raucous din echoing off the cinder-block walls. Tony and Levi appear mildly alarmed. It’s not the gore that’s getting to them. It’s the realization that I’m not going to fuck around. That they will absolutely die here. They’ve been exposed to this shit their entire adult lives, but it hits different when you’re the one being tortured. What makes me the fucking best at what I do is that I’ve been in both positions. I can dominate either.
Mateo chokes and sputters, a wretched bleat yowling from him. He probably doesn’t realize it, but that was a gift. He’ll pass out from the pain soon, and when we’re done, I’ll kill him quickly. That’s as much as he could hope for.
Correction: that would have been the plan. But on second thought, I don’t feel so fucking giving after the disrespect he showed Ainsley right out of the gate. So, with his eyes still on me, I give in to the rage I’ll need to subdue with the other two to get my answers—intel he was never going to have as a low-level foot soldier who blindly follows orders without being part of the discussion. Whether that be to accost some young girl and sell her into the slave trade or hunt down the Morelli princess, he doesn’t ask questions.
No tools for this. Just my fisted ire bludgeoning his bloody face.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His head flings backward, only to flop forward for my next hit, like a speed bag absorbing over a decade of my aggression. White-hot fury radiates off me as I lay into him with everything I am. For her. His bawling ceases. The cracks of his skull crushing and my heaving breaths swirl into a soothing battle hymn. Until his head is caved in and it’s clear there’s nothing left of Mateo.
I wipe off the blood splattered on my knuckles, lift my shirt to clean my face, settle my breathing, and set my sights on Tony and Levi. Mateo was a bonus.
But these two hold the key.
Picking the crimson-stained shears back up, I scrape them against the concrete floor, the grating noise filling the space. “Ainsley has a bit of a soft spot for you, Levi. What’s that about?”
I’m stretching the truth. She told me he ogled her every chance he got, so she used that to her advantage. I have a hunch that, much like Tony’s middle-child syndrome, Levi’s crush on my girl will be his undoing.
His brown eyes flutter as he debates his best approach. “We were close. Friends.”
I balk. “So close that you fucking shot her.”
He shakes his head, sweat lining every pore on his sallow skin, the bullet wounds on his shoulder looking gnarly as shit. “I never meant to shoot Ains.”
Ains? My blood boils. I see fucking red.
“No?” I ask, moving to the table to select my next tools. “You that bad of a shot?”
His Adam’s apple rolls through a sticky swallow. “She ran into my line of fire. The hit to her thigh was to slow her down. But I was aiming at—”
Whoosh. The sharp hiss of a silencer whizzes past me.
“Mother! Fucker!” Levi hollers, and it crashes into every solid surface with a reverberating echo.
Wells shot him in the kneecap, which has Liam and Ty laughing and me flashing him a questioning glare.
“That was for the Little Storm and”—Wells cocks one brow—“ Ains . A leg for a leg.”
“I’m not even pissed, Chief.” I all out guffaw. “I love it when you lose your temper.” Twisting back to Levi, I frown at his blown-out knee. “That probably hurts like a bitch. We’ll speed this up so it doesn’t have time to get infected, like the shoulder wounds our girls gave you. I’m going to kill you, Levi. But because you were an ally to my girl—or a pathetic excuse for one—I can make it quick. As long as you cooperate.”
He nods, muffling his whimpers.
“Good. Keep talking, and you’ll keep your tongue.” My attention drifts to dead Mateo before I start to pace, flicking my knife open and shut with a satisfying snick . “What were your orders for the night at La Lune Noire?”
“To bring her in alive,” he pants.
I halt with a huff. “So, you not killing her was nothing more than following orders. Way to spin shit so you come off like a white knight.” Choking down my hostility because it’s not quite time, I move on. “And nine thirty-two. What do you know about that?”
His head lolls to the side, eyes hooded. “The leadership guys wore smartwatches. We were able to get into their health apps. All of them stopped receiving data at nine thirty-two, so we figured …”
“Fucking impressive,” Liam declares.
Ty backs him up with a hum of agreement. He crosses his arms, a silent accolade for an out-of-the-box tracking piece. “That’s some good shit right there.”
Wells is still simmering though, skepticism coasting over his features. “How did you know for sure she had checked the time?”
That’s not a question I would’ve asked because, like Tony and Levi, I lived the reason for that.
They both release disbelieving laughs, but Levi rolls his eyes and answers, “No one went into that fucking office without knowing the time.”
Fulvio managed to transform a simple clock into a menacing threat, reminding us all that his time was valuable and ours was expendable. Fleeting.
“And her dyslexia?” I toss that out casually, as though the thought of them tormenting her with it doesn’t infuriate me. “How did you all know about that?”
“Nick,” Levi wheezes.
Not surprising. I figured as much. Motherfucker.
With another snick of my knife, I transition to the KORT information we need since Levi seems to be amenable. “What do you know about the media deal?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, and I believe him.
“Okay. We’ve established that Levi can tell the truth—colorfully at times. But I’ll take it. What about you, Tony?” I stop right before him, staring into his eyes with a silent dare for him to spit on me again. “Who owns the media conglomerate you used to go after her?”
“Fuck if I know,” he snipes, so I thrust a short-blade pocket knife into his eyeball. He yelps as blood trickles down his cheek, tremors racking through his whole body.
“Jesus Christ,” Levi gasps.
He’s killed plenty of people, sawed their limbs up, torn out their teeth so they couldn’t be identified, burned the bodies. But that was all disposal, not torture. It’s a whole different racket. One he clearly doesn’t have the stomach for. Vomit splashes onto the floor at his feet.
No sympathy here. I’ve slipped into something more comfortable. My rage Snuggie.
“The time. The pizzelles. Why fucking terrorize her?” I roar over Tony’s cries. “What’s the goddamn point?”
“They both want her,” Levi rushes out.
My head whips toward him. “Who wants her?”
“Theo and Tony,” he croaks, side-eyeing Tony with a stink eye.
No loyalty between them. Nice.
But something about that stirs fury deep in my gut.
I nod, sauntering back to Levi as casually as I can manage. “I’ve heard about the night they had a go at her. Did you know about that?”
His guilt-ridden gaze drops to the floor, fixating on the vomit.
Like thunder rumbling from my chest, I bark, “You knew, and you fucking left her there?”
He shakes his head. “I heard rumors, but I …”
“You fucking heard,” I sneer, snatching the meat saw from the table and sawing off his ear. It douses me in more blood and bits of flesh.
A shower of fucking victory, like the melody of Levi’s screams.
The torrent of wrath surging through my veins is spine-chilling, even for me. That’s why the guys are here. Because as much as I want answers, I want vengeance more. They’re supervising to make sure I keep a clear head.
I lob the ear at Ty, who snatches it with a nod, before I whirl on Tony with a venomous ferocity. “So, Nick had her. Theo wants her. And you—”
“Fucking owned her,” he snarls. Chained up with a knife sticking out of his eye, and he still has the gall to profess his obsession. Psychotic doesn’t cut it.
“Yeah,” I sympathize, tromping over to my tools to swap the saw for what I need next. “I’ve been there, man. That’s why you branded her? She was supposed to be yours.”
He averts his one-eyed gaze, leering at the wall behind me.
“You picked a fucking hell of a time to get quiet, Tony. I am not in the mood for your bullshit—not when it comes to my girl.” I nearly beat my chest with that declaration, like the Tarzan clone Ainsley and Ivy tagged me.
Stopping before him, I press the ignition button on my butane torch—the heat on high—and glide it over his chest. He shrieks and shakes and drools, but I hold steady for my work, relishing the rapid rise and fall of his chest against the flame and his futile squirming. Wicked carved a remarkable W on my chest while we were fucking, so I want to do her proud here.
When I’m done, I step back to admire the R branded across his flabby pecs. “There you go. You’re more Ricci than I am now, dipshit.” I smile like a maniacal lunatic, ignore the pathetic groan leaking from his lungs, and hold up the butane torch. “Here’s a fun personal anecdote. I bake now. It centers me. This baby makes a mean crème br?lée.”
“Fucking divine,” Liam chirps with a chuckle.
The rank whiff of scorched flesh wafts around me. More fuel. A reminder of what he did to my girl. How I failed her. And how I will spend my life worshipping and avenging her.
Levi’s eyes widen, disturbed. He’s green. I bet he retches again. Unfortunately, he’s not the one who has what we need.
I return my focus to Tony. “Now that you’re a part of the fam, tell me why Ainsley was supposed to be yours ? Sounds like you were wronged, man.”
“That was the fucking deal,” he snaps.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
I drag my chair in front of him, plunk down, like we’re about to have a heart-to-heart, and sigh as I stare up at his disgusting scowl. “I know all about how that goes. I was promised her too. Never got over that shit. Nick fucking stole her from me. Who fucked it up for you? Theo or Nick?”
The motherfucker clamps his mouth shut, right in the middle of our goddamn sharing circle.
My arms fly out in mock indignation. “I was vulnerable with you, jackass. And you give me the silent treatment?”
I hop up, enraged, clip my pliers onto his big toenail, and yank. Then I repeat it on the second foot.
He screeches. It’s a deafening pierce against my eardrums. But his stubbornness remains, so I continue for all the toes, using my knee to press into the top of each foot to keep it flat.
I had all my nails pulled as a POW. Fingers and toes. I was also stabbed, slashed, burned, and beaten. But the nails pissed me the fuck off, shooting a searing tenderness straight to my marrow. So, I can’t fault the guy for bawling. Or Levi for puking more.
But Wells can. “Jesus. Fuck.” He rubs his temples. “I’ve gotta fix the acoustics in this godforsaken shithole.”
Ty and Liam chuckle. The Chief is pissy about annoying sounds. Again, no patience. But we all anticipate his irritation in these situations and come prepared. Liam passes him a flask, and Ty hands him ear plugs.
Moving on. I wave my hand in front of Tony. “Is this to protect Theo? It doesn’t sound like he’d protect you. What was the deal for?”
His toes curl, the skin inflamed and bloody, and he sucks in a jagged breath. “Theo gave me a card that Nick wanted. It pissed Nick off. He thought he deserved it since he was one of Fulvio’s top guys. He lived for impressing that asshole. So, I traded him the card for … her.”
“He’s married. He wanted Ainsley as his sex slave,” Levi adds—whether it be because he’s outraged himself or he’s hoping for a plea deal, it doesn’t matter.
To conquer monsters, you must become one. And at this moment, I feel that rationality in the hidden crevices of my black soul. It doesn’t matter that Ainsley alluded to what had happened to her already. Three hundred ways to kill him flash before me. A savage growl lurches from my lungs, blasting through me to agitate my every cell. It’s as though my muscles could bust out of my skin on their own.
Scorch. Stack. Salt.
Wells jumps in, striding past me to stand before Tony. “What was the card for?”
Silence.
“The media conglomerate?” Wells probes, leaning close so he’s right in his face. And when he gets no response, he twists the knife in Tony’s eye.
Shrieks and screams ensue.
Wells mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
But then Tony calms himself. And nothing.
I spin to Liam. “This motherfucker needed more damn prep work. We’re gonna need to drown him.”
His brows furrow as he rises. “I thought you weren’t a fan of waterboarding, Big Guy.”
“I’m not.” I gesture to the cabinet for him to collect our supplies. “It’s not waterboarding if you use gasoline.”
“Can’t fucking argue with that,” he murmurs on his way to grab the gallon of gas.
Instead of laying Tony down for it, we unhook him from the ceiling and prop him up in the chair I was just in, his wrists still bound. It initially frees his airway. These guys have been chained to the ceiling for the last hour, which does a number on the lungs and joints. The momentary five-second reprieve will only aid our cause. Relief, followed by more dramatic asphyxiation, should set him straight quickly.
Wells jerks Tony’s head back, Ty plugs his nose, and Liam lays a cloth over his mouth and holds a funnel while I slowly dump the gasoline into it. The funnel allows it to trickle into his mouth and down his body without splattering on us. A gurgling sound crows from Tony’s throat, and Levi hisses expletives under his breath.
“This is what I’m fucking talking about. Quality time,” Liam quips, always a smart-ass.
He was correct about my distaste for this tactic. This isn’t my go-to interrogation incentive. I prefer more sanguinary methods. Maybe that’s ingrained in me from my time with the Morelli Mafia. Fulvio always preached that blood was the only atonement for sin—not in the same way the church proclaims it. And it stuck with me.
But Tony has proven to have a pain tolerance above most. In those instances, being creative is imperative. This serves to induce a sense of panic in the brain, not due to pain, but simply as a result of survival instincts. It mimics a drowning sensation.
After ten seconds of the putrid gasoline bubbling up like lava against his raw throat, he’ll be more interested in complying.
And prepped for my final show.
We stop the pour, lift the rag, and afford him a few beats to choke and sputter.
He’s losing steam, his body begging for death, so when his shoulders slouch, his decision is clear. “Theo controls the media conglomerate.” He forces it out, trying to catch his breath. “He secures clients who want messages infiltrating multiple platforms. High-dollar contracts.”
“Who are the clients?” Wells asks.
Tony spits out some gasoline, along with stomach bile. “Everyone from politicians to Forbes 100 companies.”
“That’s one hell of a black-market scheme.” Ty scowls, chewing on his lip. “You should’ve gone all in on that and given up your human trafficking business.”
“For sure,” Liam agrees. “They’ll be out of that racket once we off the rest of his family anyway. What is the card for?”
“Access,” Tony huffs. “Like a password or key. And it’s cards. Theo still has one. It’s all anonymous. Each card is like fucking gold. Worth billions, but anyone could use them.”
So, possession is everything. It trumps name or status. A lot of people would kill for one of those cards.
As my mind hovers over Tony’s middle-child resentment, I zero in on his motivation. “And you didn’t want the card. It wasn’t gonna do you any good if Theo had his own card too. Not unless you killed him so you could have them both. But the Vittoris have him so far up on a pedestal that they’d never let you get away with that. And Nick had his own pedestal, didn’t he? Because Fulvio respected him. No matter where you go, you’re always second.”
He doesn’t answer, but the way the vein in his head throbs tells me I nailed it.
“So, you thought Ainsley was a hotter commodity.” I trace my finger over his seared R . “Why does Theo want her?”
Nada. He winces from the sting of the burn, but remains mute. I’ve got no fucking idea why he’s decided to stop talking. Everything about him shouts that he’s ready to be done with this and die. Maybe his self-preservation instincts are kicking in.
“He thinks she knows where the other card is or has it in her possession,” Levi mumbles. “He won’t stop until he finds her.”
“Because Nick had it and she might know where he hid things,” I surmise.
He groans, his eyes darting between Tony and me before he ties the rest up. “Also because she killed them. No one’s that reckless. Theo and Fulvio knew that shit with the Balzanos had seemed off. Nick had already suspected she was talking to that crooked Fed, which was why our guys went out there to take care of him. When they found him, he had those pictures of you with him. They killed him, sent the photos back, and then fucking ended up dead. Once Fulvio realized you might be alive, her time was up. They watched her for a few weeks to see if she’d lead them to you or whoever she might be working with. But the kicker for Theo was that even with the Fed dead, she had help escaping …”
He trails off, but the gist is clear; some of it we expected, but the reasoning makes a lot more sense. They think she aligned with KORT and bought her freedom with that card.
“Where does Theo keep his card?” I press, needing a bit more.
“Wears it around his neck, like a lanyard,” Levi spits out. “But he’s off-grid.”
Neither of those tidbits is surprising.
That’s about all we need, but I turn back to Tony, recalling the sex slave comment Levi made a while ago. “So, Nick promised you Ainsley for the card, and—”
“He only let me have her the one fucking night,” he fills in, his mouth curling into a grimace, likely from the gasoline, his pain, and his ire. “I was supposed to keep her as long as he had the card. But he stole them both, hoping, someday, they’d lead to Fulvio turning the Morelli family over to him. Fucking delusional. And Theo wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.”
This guy is psychotic and high. Fulvio Morelli would have killed Ainsley himself before he let her be turned over as a sex slave. If only because it would have reflected poorly on him.
My molars grind, but my voice is pure ice. “When was that?”
He sears me with his one eye, finally goading me to end him. “Nine or ten months ago.”
“And what did you do to her that night?” I’m not sure why I ask that. The images I have are already more than I can bear. Maybe I need to be tortured too.
“Not nearly enough,” he returns. “But I left my mark all over her, beat her, burned her. And I fucked her all night, until she bled. Nick was disgusted by her. I thought for sure he’d give her up then.”
And that’s when she paid a gynecologist to diagnose her with endometriosis.
Jesus, I feel sick.
Ushering the guys to the front wall of the room, I lodge a bullet in Levi’s head. Mercy, as promised.
Then I grab a fresh rag and dangle it from my hand in front of Liam. “Hit me with that Zippo, man.”
He chuckles as the clank rings out into the air and the flame catches the lower edge of the cloth.
“I’ve always loved Roman candles, Tony. Why wait for Hell to burn?” I hurl the rag into the puddle of gasoline pooling around his feet, and he instantly goes up in a whoosh of flames.
Scorch.
Ashes to ashes.
The fiery clouds and plumes of smoke prance around him. And as his screams slice into the dank room, the gasoline from his mouth ignites, shooting a flare of dazzling sparks into a triumphant eruption. And the heat of the blaze warms me.
Wicked does love orange.