Brutal Knight

Chapter 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Rage followed me like a caged animal throughout the early morning and into the day. Followed by immense dread and hatred with the realization that some-fucking-how, this man had survived that day. And he'd follow me to the ends of the earth, to the end of fucking time , to get his revenge.

For the past few weeks, he'd taunted and tortured me.

Then taken someone so innocent and pure, that it had now released the beast inside me.

Ready. To. Kill. The motherfucker.

He had no idea what was coming.

Now that I knew who exactly was looking for me, I knew how to find him.

Because I knew Manuel. As soon as Knight had disappeared from my life, he'd courted and married me. For three whole years, I had the opportunity to get to know him--long enough for his mask to come off. To really get to know him.

He would want a place secluded enough that he could have total and complete control over it. And yet, close enough to the center of power so that he could easily access it.

And that center of power had to include men to manipulate and control, plus access weapons.

Once I knew his source of power, the cartel, all I had to do was spread the word through my contacts, and the information would be granted.

It had taken me all day of working my network, going deeper than I'd dared go before, because I no longer limited myself to the Kings' side of town. Until, finally, I discovered the most likely location.

A warehouse, deep in the depths of cartel territory, and on the edge of the city.

I'd driven close enough to scout with binoculars, waiting until the cover of darkness to make my move. The place was lit up even though it was nighttime, surrounded by wired fences, begging me to slip inside.

An inspection of the place showed several video cameras, as well as motion sensors, plus a plethora of cartel men guarding the outside.

I had no delusions about what I was capable of; I wasn't some version of Wonder Woman or G.I. Jane.

I wouldn't go for subtlety.

He'd made his intentions clear: come to me, or I'll kill the girl.

He was waiting.

And so I strode up to the front gate, the only weapons on me were the ones sewn into my black cargo pants and black lycra t-shirt, as well as a single knife tucked into my boot.

I was right to make that choice because, within seconds of leaving my cover, a spotlight from the guard gate overhead lit up my whole body.

I raised my hands and strode right up to the front gate, where ten men surrounded me, rifles and semi-automatics pointed straight at me. Demanding me to get to my knees.

As soon as I hit the jagged gravel, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and brown eyes roughly searched me. He smelled like cooked onions.

He found the knife in my boot, plus two others stitched into my clothes. Then he put a black canvas bag over my face and zip-tied my hands behind my back.

The smell of onions grew stronger as he gripped my arm, guiding me towards the warehouse. We walked for a while before hands shoved me forward.

"On your knees." Hands still cuffed behind my back, my knees hit cold concrete again. "Don't move."

I sat like that for who knew how long, my back strained, shoulders strained from the rough treatment, in silence.

I wasn't sure if I was even alone in the room but I could feel a cold prickling sensation across my neck and up my spine. I was certain that he was watching me. Probably through a video feed.

The feeling was familiar: I'd grown accustomed to it, so long ago, the constant sense of being watched .

I waited patiently, reminding myself with gritted teeth that this was for Honey .

That I would play the submissive only until I found her, then the true me would come out. I would kill that bastard with my teeth if I had to.

After what was probably a couple of hours, I heard the door open, and the cloying scent of a spicy cologne overcame the smell of onions--familiar. Disgusting. Manuel's. A wave of nausea washed over me, an instantaneous reaction to what was surely his presence. I grit my teeth, the cool air prickly against my now clammy skin.

"Tatiana." His voice was low and deceptively soft. It made my insides crawl. "You finally figured it out."

I didn't answer; I had no plans to, not as long as I had this ridiculous bag over my head.

There was a long pause and then a low growl, "Get her ready."

The sound of a door clicking before the black canvas bag was ripped from my face. My eyesight flooded with light as rough hands grasped me, yanking me to my feet.

My knees wobbled from sitting on them so long and I swayed to the side, but they steadied me.

"Put this on." Onion man shoved a red, shimmery dress and black heels to my chest, while someone else cut the ties from behind my back.

"I'm not putting that on." I rubbed the blood back into my arms and hands.

"You'll put it on, or we will. You pick." His brown eyes were cold and hard, like stone.

I sighed, jerking it from his fingers and growled out, "Fine."

Bending over, I took my time, unlacing my boots, trying to take in as much as possible, now that I could see. The room didn't give away much. It was about the size of my living room and had gray, concrete walls and flooring, with a blinking video light.

Manuel was watching our every move.

Two guards stood behind me, wearing different versions of tank tops and jeans. They turned their backs towards me as I stripped down to my underwear and bra. But onion man kept his eyes on me, roaming over my whole body, his cruel lips twisting as I struggled to put on the dress without lifting a finger to help me.

When I was done, he stepped forward, his gaze landing on my breasts for a full five seconds before pulling a tube of pink lipstick from his pocket. Dolce Vita.

"Your favorite," he said, holding it out to me.

"Actually, it's not." It was Manuel's, always had been, even though he'd declared it to be mine, like everything else in our life. I tried to grab it from him, but he snatched it away at the last second, stepping closer.

"Pucker up." Staring into my eyes, he applied the lipstick, then ran his finger over my lip, brushing off the excess. He pulled the band from my hair, tugging it until it was loose around my shoulders. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, "Maybe you and I'll have some fun later on tonight."

I tilted my face towards him, whispering back, "You must have a death wish." Then I bit into his cheek.

Roaring, he jerked backwards and the other guards howled in laughter. Eyes filled with rage, and he slapped me.

Pain ricocheted through me but I refused to let him see it. Instead, I stared into his eyes, a small smile twisting my lips, even though tears burned the back of my eyes. "That all you got soldier?"

His jaw set, but before he could respond, the door slammed open, revealing Antonio.

For some stupid reason, relief flooded through me.

Antonio might not be the best guy but he always made sure no one hurt me.

"You must have a fucking death wish," he growled from the doorway, quoting my own words back to onion man. I blinked in surprise. Had he heard me?

Taking hold of my elbow, Antonio led me from the room, down the maze of hallways until we were inside a large room, complete with several guards, a table dressed with food, and two chairs.

And in one of the chairs, was Manuel Rodrigo, my ex-husband, the man I'd thought I'd killed when I slit his throat.

At the sight of him, alive, I froze. My feet wouldn't allow me to go further.

"No, no, no," I wasn't thinking, only reacting as my feet began to move backwards until I hit the wall of men behind me.

Antonio stepped in front of me, blocking my vision. "Tatiana, look at me."

My eyes met his dark brown ones. I was still shaking my head. "I can't," I said, "I can't."

"You can," he growled, "You have to."

"No, no, no, don't make me." I panicked, shoving him away, punching and kicking, unable to stop myself, my heart pounding, my whole body screaming to get away, get away, get away.

Strong arms wrapped around me, a wall of muscle keeping me from moving, Antonio's low voice was all I could focus on. It was quiet, meant only for my ears. "You can do this, Tatiana. You're strong enough."

"No," I wailed against his chest, "I can't."

Gripping my chin, he forced my face upwards to meet his hard look. "You are." A low growl, "You are, okay?"

I could only stare up at him, my heart still pounding so hard, a suffocating feeling climbing up my chest and throat.

"You can," he continued. "You're strong. That's the only way you're going to get through this. You know that. Be brave, for yourself. For Honey."

At the sound of her name, I stilled.

He was right. I had to be strong. For her.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice softer.

When I didn't answer, his hand on my chin gripped me tighter. "Say you understand, Tatiana."

I nodded, my voice wobbling as I answered, "I understand." He was right, he was right. I had to be good. I had to be strong, for her.

He gave me a minute to calm myself before glancing over to Manuel, giving him a nod.

"Show her to her seat," the cold, familiar voice responded.

Gritting my teeth, I forced my feet to move, to follow beside Antonio as he took me to a chair, pulled it out and waited for me to sit.

I sat, gaining control over my senses, or, at least, pretending to. I forced my lips upwards in a feral smile, then looked my worst enemy in the eyes, ready for battle. I will kill you.

* * *

A lot of society's psychopaths have learned to blend in so well, that it has been shocking when certain serial killers are brought to light because they'd been such pillars of the community.

But at six foot five inches, Manuel could never blend in, not even if he wanted to. He was not only tall but large, with bulging muscles that he used to his advantage.

Some say that he was handsome, despite the large scar on his face and neck that looked like melted wax, but it was all I could see because I knew the truth of how he'd gotten it.

When he was young, a fire started, and ended up taking out four houses on the block, killing two people.

Only I knew that he'd been the one to intentionally start that fire because he hated his nanny.

He was trying to kill her. At six years old.

And, as I sat across from him, I saw through his charming smile, meant to disarm, and instead knew he was pleased by my reaction to him.

He'd forgone his usual suit coat and tie, instead wearing only his signature red, button up shirt with the collar open.

There, lined in thick pink, was another scar, slashed across his throat.

When my eyes landed on it, pride filled my chest, knowing I'd been the one to put that there.

He deliberately showed it off for me--like a badge of honor. He'd survived.

All I thought about was the pain he must have gone through to recover from something like that, and that made me happy.

Besides, it had given me a freedom I could only dream of, a chance to escape him, until now.

"Where's Honey," I said, as soon as a plate was placed before me. The succulent smell made me want to gag.

Manuel's lips pressed together in a firm line, and I had the feeling that he'd expected something else from me.

Of course, he wanted the focus on him, and only him.

He may have used Honey to lure me to him, but somehow, he'd wanted me to forget her as soon as I'd gotten here.

He was just about to find out how wrong he was. "I want to see her," I demanded, my fists tight in my lap, as if I was using them to hold myself together. To hold in all the pain and anger I wanted to belt out.

I wanted to jump across the table and stab him in the eye with this stupid, shiny fork!

"You're not happy to see me?" He finally responded.

"Should I be?"

"I would think you would be a little more grateful, after everything I've done for you over the years."

"You?" I replied, scoffing. His back straightened, his eyes glinting with expectation. He wanted me to ask him what he'd done for me. No doubt he'd turned some small and insignificant thing into something bigger in his mind.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I yawned, faking boredom. "Is this all you had planned."

In answer to my question, Manuel barked out. "Bring him here."

The cold sound sent a chill down my spine, but I held my head high, not wanting him to see how it affected me, despite what had happened only moments earlier.

Doors slammed against the back wall as two guards dragged in someone else--he could barely walk.

It was onion man.

Manuel gestured with two fingers and the guards released their hold on him and he crumpled to the floor, moaning in pain.

"On your knees," Manuel demanded, his cold blue eyes not looking at the man, but at me, instead.

Still groaning in pain, the man struggled to his hands, then, finally, managed to pull his knees upward so that he was bowing before Manuel.

"Not at me," Manuel scoffed derisively, taking a sip of a brown amber drink. Probably whiskey.

I wasn't sure what he meant until the man struggled, once more, until he was facing me, his head still bowed in supplication.

"Now." Manuel stood, towering over the man, his face impassive. "Apologize to her."

"I apologize, ma'am," onion man mumbled to the floor.

"Look her in the eyes," Manuel hissed, his voice going dangerously low.

Onion man's face tilted upward, revealing two swollen eyes, so swollen, he couldn't see from them. His shirt was torn, and he had cuts and bruises all over his face and chest.

"I apologize, ma'am. Please forgive me," there seemed to be genuine remorse in his words.

"I warned you, didn't I?" Manuel ran the back of his hand across his mouth and I recognized the telltale signs I'd come to learn so long ago. A quickened breath, subtle, but the unmistakable shake to his chest, and the brightening of his eyes.

He was growing excited.

And now I understood. He'd put onion man in charge of me on purpose. He'd known the man's weakness, that I would be a temptation to him, and had wanted to test him.

And, of course, the man had failed. Just like Manuel knew he would.

"Please," the man's broken tone softened my heart. "Forgive me?"

I stared at him in both horror and dread. Within seconds, Manuel had his gun out, aimed for the man's head. "Looks like the missus doesn't forgive you."

I suddenly realized, too late, that I was the only one who could save him.

I inhaled a sharp yelp as a bullet silenced the man's broken pleas, and he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling on the floor.

Bending over, Manuel grasped the man's face, staring into his eyes with an entranced expression. "You know the part I love the most?" he asked, his gaze moving to me. It shouldn't have surprised me, the excitement I saw in them. The pleasure.

But it did. The hair on the back on my neck stood on end. My gut churned and the urge to jump from my chair and run from the room was overpowering.

Suddenly, as if he could sense it, Antonio's hands came down on my shoulders, holding me there. I couldn't move.

"The light," Manuel continued, as if I'd answered him. "I love to see the light leave their eyes. That's my favorite part."

A shiver of revolt climbed up my esophagus and I clenched my teeth to keep from vomiting. Antonio's fingers on my shoulders tightened... protectively ?

"Now," Manuel's smile was strained, "see how I can protect you, Tatiana?" He paused, waiting for my reaction. "I always protect my little, helpless pajarita ," he continued when I didn't respond.

I wanted to show him how well I could protect myself, but my heart was still jack-hammering in my chest, my stomach still clenching in a revolting manner. I was sick at the sight of him, the smell of cooked veal and broccoli, plus the simmering scent of cinnamon--surely dessert waiting in the kitchen--mixed with the blood still pooling from the man's head. All of it combined wasn't helping me gain the courage I wanted--to be able to stab him in the throat with my butter knife.

So, as Manuel's face darkened at my non-response, Antonio's fingers grew tighter on my shoulders. I managed a smile, then a simple, "Thank you."

At this, Manuel relaxed, his fake smile growing genuine. "I always protect what's mine," he said as he sat back down.

As soon as he was seated, two men dragged onion man's body out of the room. The scent of bleach quickly filled the air as a woman in a cook's uniform came in and began to clean up his blood from the floor.

"Eat," Manuel demanded, nodding curtly to the food already served on a white, china plate before me.

I couldn't. Not after that. "Where's Honey," I demanded instead, my fingers clenching the butter knife so tight that the cold metal was a soothing sensation to the fury inside me.

"You care about the girl, then, do you?" Manuel's hand froze, his own bite of veal halfway to his mouth.

I stared at my plate. It was important that I not show any reaction.

Instead, I managed to cut a piece of the white meat and shove it in my mouth. It tasted rubbery, even though it practically melted on my tongue.

I managed to choke down a few more pieces, along with some bright green broccoli before answering him. "Yes, of course. I'm not emotionless."

Manuel's eyes darkened, his head tilting as he took in my words. He was trying to see if there was any underlying meaning to them--he hated it when people called him emotionless.

I showed my teeth in a forced smile. "I'm here for her, aren't I?"

"I was hoping you would say that."

I blinked in genuine surprise. "You did?"

"Yes," A slow grin snaked up his lips, hope filling his expression. "I thought we could be a little family. The three of us."

Manuel had always wanted kids, though the thought of it revolted me.

"Sure," I lied, forcing the next words through clenched teeth. "That would be wonderful." Over my dead body.

All hope quickly died from his eyes. In an instant, they were cold and dead, so dark, I could see the flicker of the candlelight in them. And that's when I knew I hadn't been convincing enough. I rushed my next words.

"I mean, you had said you always wanted a boy, not a girl, so..." My words died in my throat as he deliberately placed the knife and fork on his plate. Fear spiked my chest; I couldn't breathe.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm never enough for you, am I, Tatiana?" He stood, casually pulling a needle from his pocket, and the sight of it had my back straightening.

"Of course you are." My teeth began to chatter--I was shaking.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I'd come here, strong. Ready to fight to the death.

To kill him.

Not tremble before him like a helpless, caged bird. I hated how he made me feel. So...powerless. So weak.

Shaking off Antonio's hands still on my shoulders, I growled out, "I will never be a family with you again." My voice came out a snarl, like a cornered animal. Then I gulped. I'd meant to reassure him. To convince him I had real feelings for him. I needed to do it for Honey. To save her. If I could convince him I wanted us to be a family, he might not kill her.

But I couldn't stop myself now, the words were rushing from me, unbidden. "You always disgusted me." Unstoppable. "I hated every single time you looked at me." I stood up, ignoring Antonio's warning hiss at me, "Every time you touched me, I vomited in my mouth."

"Is that so, Tatiana?" Manuel had stopped before me, and we were staring each other down.

His movements were controlled, precise, as his fingers wrapped around my wrist. My chest was heaving, rage billowing, my face burning with my indignation.

I couldn't stop my mouth from running. "And if you think that I would ever love you, that I would ever be a family with you, then you're even crazier than I--"

I didn't finish my sentence because at the word, 'crazy' he slashed out, his hand moving from my wrist to grip my throat. For the first time tonight, there was an emotion other than amusement in his eyes. Anger.

A lump formed in my throat. I'd made him angry. He was cutting off my air.

"Unfortunately, I thought you might feel that way." He squeezed tight, forcing me back into my seat. Antonio hovered around me, but didn't make any other move. "And that's why I've prepared something special for you."

He held up the needle. My face paled, the blood draining to my feet, and sweat pouring down my side. "No. Please."

"Apparently, it's the only way," he sighed heavily. "I did try."

"I'll do what you want," I said. "I take it all back."

Pulling up a chair, he sat next to me, an almost sad expression on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Except, I don't really believe you." He pinched his lips together. "I had hoped that I wouldn't have to force this. I gave you many years of freedom. I'd hoped that you would appreciate that."

"I d-did."

"Do you remember the first time we met, Tatiana?"

I nodded, the moment seared into my memory. "Yes."

"Good," he said. "I do, too. And from that moment, I knew I had to have you. Except," he sniffled, "You were just a tiny thing. So skinny. Weak. And I couldn't have that. So I did the things I did to make you strong. Resilient. Don't you see? Until you were strong enough to even go after me, your own husband." There was a knowing gleam in his eye. "And the night you tried to kill me, I couldn't have been more proud. I'd made you so powerful. And then, I let you go. Free, to spread your wings. To be the strong eagle that I created, in you." He shook his head, his eyes darkening, "But you disappointed me, Tatiana. Instead of a fierce eagle warrior, you became the small bird once again. You grew weak." Disgust filled his tone, and the chair squeaked on the floor as he pulled his chair even closer to me. I flinched at the movement as he raised his hands towards my arm. "It looks like I'm going to have to start all over."

"No!" I struggled now, fighting to get away, panic climbing up my throat. "No!"

"Hold her down," Manuel commanded, and then it was impossible for me to escape as several pairs of hands grabbed me at once. One of them smashed my head into the table, and I could only blink my eyes, holding back tears as I stared at the cook who'd cleaned up the blood earlier. She pressed against the wall, her expression terrified.

"You'll be happy to know that I've perfected the formula," he said, injecting the needle into a small patch of skin at my shoulder, "Now, I can control any part of your body I wish." A tingling sensation washed down my arm.

The cook bit down on her trembling lip, her eyes still locked on mine.

"Where before, your whole body was crippled, now I can paralyze only the parts I wish, and leave the others." He was injecting me all over my body now, my arms and legs, my stomach. The tingling sensation grew, billowing throughout me. "If I wish."

The cook finally looked away, unable to hold my gaze as Manuel held the needle to my face. He paused, leaning over, his breath pouring over my skin. "This time, I'll let you move your head. I want you to watch as I work. I've got a new design for you, an even better one. I've been practicing my art."

I couldn't stop the agonized groan escaping my throat. "No," I whimpered. "Please."

"What was that?" He bent closer to my mouth.

"Please," I begged, hating the helplessness, the agony, the dread. The sheer terror filling me as a memory came, unbidden.

"Unfortunately, I don't trust you yet, Tatiana." He straightened, laying the needle on the table. Then he snapped his fingers, and one of his guards stepped forward, a tattoo gun in his hands. "Now," Manuel smiled, "If you ever escape again, you won't be able to hide from me this time. Everyone will know that you belong to me."

I was suddenly thrown back in time, the sound of the ocean in my ears.

Even though my body was paralyzed, I could still feel the pain radiating from my collarbone outward, climbing up my neck and pounding into my head.

“I settled on a design, one I think you'll like.” His eyes moved back to my collar, where the tattoo gun in his hand was moving over my skin. He focused on it intently, quiet for a brief moment, the only sound the buzz, buzz, buzzing. I would never forget that sound.

I couldn’t twitch a finger, shake my head, or even hold my bladder. Though I tried.

Yes," he continued, somehow seeing my effort, "I think I finally figured out the exact right dose. Enough of the poison to keep you alert but unable to move."

He'd been experimenting with it for months, finally discovering a way to force me to do his bidding. To wait patiently at the door, instead of trying to escape. To wait for him on the bed, so he could fuck me, instead of locking myself in the bathroom.

He could force me to do anything now.

My lips parted, drool leaking down my chin. I wanted to scream!

"Disgusting." He frowned, wiping it with the napkin from the table.

Once again, I was struck with helplessness, the urge to run making me feel twitchy.

In honor of the very creature you despise so much,” he continued, once I was clean.

His words made my body go cold. He was tattooing a deathstalker scorpion on me, for fuck’s sake. The source of the poison itself.

Not that it would matter what he tattooed on me. It was his way of claiming me. Of showing me that I belonged to him. That he could do anything he wanted to me, and I had no choice in the matter.

Grief billowed in my chest, forcing another whimper from my throat and red flush his face. I knew what he would do a moment before the palm of his hand whipped across my cheek, making my head fly back.

“You dare disrespect me! You should feel honored to have the mark of the scorpion!" His eyes narrowed again, the soullessness in them making my whole body ice over with fear.

How is it that I couldn’t even move, and yet, I could still tremble inside? Still feel the pain across my cheek and collar?

Could still feel the emptiness of his gaze somehow fill me, making me just as empty and bitter as he was?

"I shouldn’t give you this," he nodded towards the tattoo newly forming on my collar. "You don't deserve it." His lips twisted, anger blotching his brown skin as he considered it. Scowling in anger, his hand moved up again. Another strike. Pain screaming and spreading across my face. My neck ached with the snap of movement. Then fingernails digging into my skin.

I tried to pull away, to push off from the chair holding me. But, I couldn’t move.

After several minutes of pain, he stopped, sucking in deep breaths, slowly gaining control over himself as his eyes landed on my collar. Then, like flicking a switch, his mood changed. A grin stretched across his ugly, scarred face, "It's just perfect. Just a few finishing touches, then everything will be right again. You’ll see.”

He caressed my cheek, the touch loving, but worse than when he slapped me. "I know you're going to just love it, my little pajarita." His eyelashes fluttered close and his chest expanded as he pulled in a deep breath, his soft words, "You will learn, eventually." When his eyes opened, there was the frigid calmness I'd come to recognize back in his gaze.

He shook his head, sitting back down. "No, once you see it complete, you'll love it. I know it. It might take some time," his eyes roamed his handiwork on my body appreciatively, but it's going to be beautiful."

The sound of the tattoo gun buzzing snapped me back to the moment, releasing the hold the past had on me.

I closed my eyes, the tears burning at the back of them, forcing them down. If I cried, it would only make things worse. Besides, he didn't deserve to see my pain. It would only make him happier.

I was doing this for Honey.