Chapter 16
SABLE
I toed off my shoes at the top of the stairs, not wanting to risk making a sound on the hardwood floor.
This wasn't a horror movie where I could stomp all the way in, scaring the shit out of him as he waited for us to appear in the doorway.
Him cowering under the blankets, hoping to be spared by the homicidal manic, possibly in clown makeup.
No, it was better if he didn't know we were coming.
In addition, it'd be better if no clowns were involved. They gave me the creeps.
"Fuck," Woody hissed as he tripped over my shoes.
"Shh," I told him. "We're supposed to be sneaking."
"We were sneaking until you left those right there," he growled softly.
"They're right against the wall," I pointed out. "It's not my fault you weren't looking where you were going."
"I—" he started. "You know what? Just be quiet."
"I am being quiet," I said. "You're the one making all the noise."
He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and blew it out slowly. "Come on, let's find this asshole," he said.
I was tempted to point out I'd already found one, but that would break the tentative peace between us. I'd save that for later, when he could see I was joking. More or less.
"My bet is the primary bedroom is at the end of the corridor," I said, gesturing in the direction of a room with my knife, narrowly missing stabbing Woody in the arm.
"Watch it with that thing," he whispered. "I thought you knew how to use it."
"I do know," I insisted. "Do you want a demonstration?"
"No, I don't want a fucking demonstration. Come on." He took a couple of steps in the direction I'd indicated.
I lowered my hand to keep the knife out of harm's way and walked behind him.
"This looks like it." He stopped so suddenly I almost stabbed him in the right ass cheek. I pulled my hand back at the last moment and hoped he didn't notice.
That could have been a pain in the ass.
He stood in front of a closed door, one that looked the same as every other door in this apartment. Expensive and solid, the kind of door you wouldn't easily kick down. Maybe if we had a rocket launcher…
Probably just as well we didn’t. We'd destroy the place if we didn't aim right. It'd be my luck if we accidentally brought the ceiling down on us. We already did that once. I didn't want to do it again.
He placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted it slowly.
I half-expected it to be locked, but it opened easily and silently. Shame, I was hoping it would have an annoying squeak. Not because I wanted it to announce our presence, but because I wanted the senator to be annoyed every time he opened and closed the door.
Yes, that's petty, but here we are.
The room on the other side was almost too bright. No curtains or blinds covered the window. City lights flooded in, illuminating a huge bed, and the man sleeping right in the centre, arms and legs spread like a starfish. Of course, he took up all the space.
A shiver travelled up and down my spine.
"What is it?" Woody asked.
I shook my head. The scene reminded me of the night Wolfgang was killed. He too liked to take up as much space as he could.
"If you don't want to do this, you can leave," Woody said.
"I'm staying," I whispered.
The senator stirred, his face turning this way and that, in his sleep. He muttered something about 'Appropriations Committee,' then lay still again.
Woody grabbed something off the back of a chair that sat to the side of the room, and slowly approached the bed. He glanced back at me before raising his knife and jamming it right through the senator's palm all the way into the mattress.
The senator's eyes snapped open.
"What the—"
He was cut off when Woody wound one of his ties around his face, jamming it into his mouth.
The senator jerked his hand, bringing his knife with him. It was impaled all the way through.
He tried to cry out something, but his voice was muffled by the tie. He tried to pull it out with his other hand, but Woody grabbed his wrist and pinned him to the bed.
He held it there for a moment before he grabbed a pair of handcuffs which dangled from the top of the headboard. He pulled them down and snapped them around the senator's wrists, locking them together.
"That's much better," Woody said. He grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled. The scrape of steel on bone was audible, along with a wet sucking sound as it slid free.
The senator cried out again, the sound heavy with pain. Blood poured from his hand, coating the sheets.
I stepped forward. "Remember me? Hi." I gave him a finger wave. "We didn't like being confined to that room down there. This looks like much more fun."
He stared at me, eyes wide.
"What should we do with him?" Woody asked.
The senator struggled against the handcuffs, but they were secured to the headboard, no doubt intended for someone other than him. How ironic.
How deserved.
"I don't know," I said. "I'm guessing his hand is hurting a little bit."
I liked that for him. I liked it for me even more.
"Wouldn't want him to suffer," Woody said. He grabbed the senator's wrist again and brought the knife down to his skin, slicing until he severed the hand completely.
The senator screamed in agony.
"Much better," I said. I had a feeling that hurt a whole lot more.
The cuffs slipped out from the headboard, letting the senator scurry off to the side of the bed and roll off onto the floor. He landed with a heavy thud before scrambling to his feet, his hand over his bloody stump. The tie had worked loose and fell out of his mouth.
"You're out of your fucking minds," he snarled. He glanced behind us, clearly hoping one of his thugs was coming to his rescue.
"No one's coming," Woody said. "Cuthbert and the rest are dead."
The senator stared. He didn't quite believe it, but panic seemed to be settling in. "You'll never get away with this."
"I disagree," Woody said. "We are very much going to get away with this." He stalked around the bed, knife in his hand.
I followed, both of us driving the man back toward the corner of the room.
"Just out of curiosity," I said, "how long do you think it takes to bleed out from a stump?"
"Too long," Woody said. "I'll get bored long before that happens."
"Fair call.” I nodded.
"What do you want?" the senator asked. "I have money. I can give you as much as you want. Walk away right now and I won't say anything." Tears poured from his eyes.
"Do you believe him?" I asked Woody.
"Not for a second," Woody replied.
"Huh, me either," I said. I gave the senator one of my nastiest smiles. "Walking away doesn't work for us. Sorry, not sorry."
I was going to be sick later, but for now the adrenaline was coursing through my veins, making my heart race.
Making me want to do things I otherwise wouldn't. Revenge, not just for myself, but for anyone else he ever lay a finger on.
Revenge for Savannah. Where was she? Was she safe? As soon as he was dead, I'd find out.
The senator tried to back up farther, but the wall was right behind him.
"I'll give you anything you want," he whispered, becoming more and more desperate.
"There's only one thing we want," I said.
Woody pulled the gun out of his pocket and shot the senator in one of his knees, then the other.
He screamed so loud I winced, before he toppled to the floor, his legs a bloody mess.
"Was that what you wanted?" Woody asked me.
"It's a start," I agreed.
He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much. I wasn't sure what to think about that. I decided I'd think about it later.
What I'd do now, was look down at the broken mess of a man who thought he was more important than anyone else. One of the so-called elite. Now he was nothing. Less than nothing. A corpse waiting to happen.
Woody crouched down in front of him. "There is one thing I want. Maybe if you give it to us, we'll go easy on you."
"Anything?" the senator sobbed. He was holding his stump while pressing his knees together, desperately trying to contain the blood.
"I want the name of the person who organized the auction," Woody said.
"I don't know it." The senator shook his head, frantic. "If I knew, I'd tell you, I promise."
"Hmm, well, that's disappointing." Woody cocked his head. "I forgot, there's something else I want. You saw my woman naked. That's not okay. She's traumatized because of what you did."
"I am traumatized," I agreed, nodding again.
Woody turned to look at me. "I did some shitty things to you. I want to make it up to you. Let me start by giving you a gift."
He turned back around and shoved the gun back in his pocket. He raised the knife and jammed it into the senator's eyeball, not far enough to impale his brain, but far enough to destroy his eye.
The senator screamed and went on screaming as Woody stabbed his other eyeball.
"There, he can never look at you again." He pulled the knife back and admired his work.
"I'm touched," I said sincerely, which was strange because I'd never thought someone mutilating another human being would be romantic. If this was Woody's idea of groveling, it was original and sweet, if a little messy and bloody.
"Do you want to finish him off?" Woody offered. He gestured toward the other man, palm raised.
I considered for a moment, but then said, "If it's okay with you, I'd rather you did it, but only if you're doing it to make up for the past."
"So I shouldn't do it for fun?" Woody asked.
"Absolutely not," I replied. "Only if you're trying to make me feel better."
"I will do my best to not enjoy killing him," Woody said. He leaned in. "You fucked with the wrong woman, asshole. You thought it was okay to buy her and try to use her."
"You used her," the senator wailed. If that was his attempt at trying to drive a wedge between us, it wasn't going to work. We were united in our disgust of him and our desire to end him.
"No, I fucked her," Woody said. "That was going to happen sooner or later. Then I killed for her." He drove the knife into the senator's throat, ending his life with a squirt of blood and a gargle.
"I didn't enjoy that," Woody said, wiping the blade of the knife clean on the bedsheets.
"I thought you were suffering the whole time," I said. I was almost certain he enjoyed every moment of it, but it went a long way towards his grovel. There was still room for more, but it was a good start.
"We should get out of here." Woody pushed himself to his feet.
"Sable! Woody!" Leif’s voice called down from downstairs.
The sound of his voice was so sudden I jumped.
"We're up here," I called back once I'd composed myself enough to respond.
"They missed out on all the fun."
"Good," Woody said. "They didn't fuck up as bad as I did. They didn't need this kill." He frowned at me. "How many is it going to take before you forgive me?"
I smiled sweetly. "I'm not sure. I'll let you know." I patted his chest as I walked out, heading back toward the stairs.