7. Vito
Chapter 7
Vito
I close the door Savage left open and perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of Jane’s chair.
Rude.
I thought we were going to interrogate her together. We haven’t had much time to bond the past couple of weeks. Shit’s been crazy at the cartel, and that was before Nyx crash landed in our lives like a poorly piloted Cessna.
I spin Jane’s pocket knife on the palm of my hand, catch it by the hilt, and point it in her direction.
She doesn’t even flinch.
“So, you know my name already. What’s yours?”
“Jane.”
My free hand curls into a fist.
How does Savage keep calm during interrogations? Okay, he’s usually flaying someone’s face off at the time, and they start opening up a minute or two after that’s started…but she’s got a pretty face.
And if I cut her, there’ll be all that blood, and all that screaming, and I’m just not in the mood for that shit right now.
“Fine, Jane. What were you doing at Doc’s house?”
Jane glares at me.
I lean back, crossing my ankle over my knee. “Look, this isn’t going to be any fun if you just sit there glaring at me.”
Jane scowls.
“Not an improvement. For fuck’s sake, at least beg for your life or something.”
I toss the knife on the table. It’s not exactly putting the fear of God into her, so what’s the point? She seemed more scared of the?—
Hmm…
Jane is scanning the room like I’m boring her, but at my smile, her attention snaps back to me. I stand, going back to the kitchen where I’d left my bullhide flogger. Her eyes track me as far as she can turn her head.
I’m grinning as I come back into her field of view.
“Ever used one of these before?”
The redhead shrinks away when I dangle the flogger in front of her. She can’t go very far, being all tied up and shit. There was enough rope that me and Savage could tie her arms to the chair too. As much as she pulls and yanks, she can’t get away.
I slap the supple leather strips against my palm, laughing at how wide her green eyes go.
“You know, this is a very versatile tool in the right hands.”
She tries to lean away when I drag the tips of the leather strips over her shoulder and down her arm, letting it catch on the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt.
Her fingers tighten over the edge of the armrests, knuckles turning nearly as white as her paling skin.
“Why were you at Doc’s house?”
Despite her obvious aversion to the sex toy, she’s not breaking. I’d be impressed, if I wasn’t so annoyed at how long this was taking.
I flick my wrist, catching her on the collarbone with the flogger, and break into a smile when she gasps. Not in pain—I’m still just teasing—but in surprise at the sneak attack.
“Come on, Jane. This could all be over. Just tell me what I need to know.”
“Go to hell.”
That earns her another sting along the collarbone. I drag the leather strips over one breast, then let them pool in her lap before gliding them over her thigh.
“These jeans look uncomfortable. Maybe I should take them off.”
She shifts her weight as much as the ropes allow, throwing me an uneasy look. “That’s…not necessary.”
I scoff. “You’d think, and yet, here we are. You refusing to talk, me having to make you.”
She gasps when I bring the flogger down full force over her thigh. It shouldn’t hurt that much through her jeans, but she keeps her eyes closed, her throat moving as she swallows. You’d swear I backhanded her.
I raise the flogger again, aiming for the other thigh, pausing at her breathless, panicky, “Okay! Okay.”
“Yeah?” I prompt when she just sits there, breathing hard.
“I’m not some hired gun,” she says quietly, her pale green eyes flickering briefly to mine before she looks away.
“So you knew him? What were you to him? Family? Friend? Lover?”
“What? No! I didn’t know him,” she cuts in fiercely, eyes narrowed to slits. “He was supposed to have a job for me.”
“Supposed to?”
She shrugs. “It could have been bullshit. I didn’t have a chance to find out, because when I got to his place, he was—“ She swallows. “Well, you know.”
“Slaughtered.” I sigh at the memory of how we found Dr. Gomez and his family. He was a good guy. I refuse to believe he was capable of doing anything to deserve such a cruel death. And whoever did it probably made him watch as they killed his wife and kids first.
“I need a fucking drink,” I mutter, tossing the flogger into Jane’s lap.
She stares at it like it’s a snake. “Please, I’m telling the truth.”
“Some of it.” I stride into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers from the cupboard.
As I walk back, I see her craning her head to look around, as if she’s trying to peer out the nearest window. I perch on the edge of the reclaimed wood coffee table, studying her from the corner of my eye as I pour us both a few fingers of whiskey.
“Still trying to figure out where you are?”
Her expression settles into an impressive resting bitch face for someone tied to a chair.
“What’s the plan? Chew through those ropes, then scale the wall to escape?” I cluck my tongue at her. “It’s like a hundred feet high.” My lip curls up on one side. “Best case scenario, you twist one of those pretty ankles.”
She flushes at the word pretty.
“Worst case scenario…” I grab her chin, digging in when she tries to pull away. “One of the seven guards patrolling the perimeter spots you, which I’m kinda sure they will since they’re so damn well trained, and they put a bullet right between your eyes.”
Her eyelashes flutter when I press my finger into her forehead.
I lean back so I can dig her switchblade out of my pocket.
She stares at the knife, then back at me. I guess you can tell I’m not a cold blooded killer, but she doesn’t have to look so bored with this fucking interrogation.
“I could use this to cut your hands free. Then we could enjoy a drink together as you tell me about yourself…or…”
Jane flinches when I touch the tip of the knife to her knee and slowly drag it up her jeans. I barely reach mid-thigh before she blurts out, “You’ve made your point!”
I tease the blade over her knuckles, and then slip it under the rope wrapped around her wrist and slice it off. She flexes her hand, her gaze alternating between the knife and my eyes as I cut free her other arm.
As soon as her second hand is free, she snatches the flogger out of her lap. But instead of using it for some weird form of self defense, she tosses it away from her hard enough that it clatters against the wall.
“But we were having so much fun.” My gaze drops to her lips, and they tighten like she doesn’t like it when I look at them.
She points at the glass beside me. “That for me?”
“I would never torture someone like that.”
“So you’re fine with flogging someone, but being selfish with your booze is where you draw the line?”
“I like you, Jane,” I chuckle into my whisky, but my laughter dries up when Jane tosses her drink down her throat in one gulp.
“That was a twenty-year-old Macallan,” I breathe in disgust.
“Probably older than the last girl you brought here.” Her eyebrows jump up like she’s encouraging me to retaliate.
This woman has bigger balls than most sicarios I’ve met.
I top up her glass when she holds it out to me.
“Did he say anything to you when you spoke?” I ask.
“We never?—”
“Before.” I wave a hand. “About the job.”
She slows down her words. “I never spoke to him.”
“Christ!” I slam the whiskey bottle down on the table just hard enough to make a loud bang without breaking it.
“You don’t know him. You’ve never spoken to him. But you say he had a job for you. So how the fuck did you?—“
“My mother.” Jane has a bad habit of interrupting people when they’re speaking.
“Your mother.”
Jane’s mouth tightens into an almost sulky pout. “She…She was trying to get me a job.”
“Your mother ?”
She hangs her head and mutters a soft, “God.”
I wait, taking another sip of whisky as Jane works through whatever shit is happening in her head, her face screwing up with irritation.
“The suspense is killing me,” I tell her dryly.
“My name is Andy.” Her pale green eyes fix on me reluctantly. “I’m Viviana’s daughter.”