37. Knox
KNOX
The original plan had been to take dear old Sebastian here to the closed mill plant, but how could I resist the theatricality of it all?
“Time to wake up, asshole.” Dominic slaps him on the back of the head, like that will help move things along.
We had to give Sebastian additional sedatives to prevent him from waking up before The Slaughterhouse cleared out for the night, so he’s more than a little groggy coming out of it.
At first, the fucker just looks confused, blearily swinging his head from side to side, taking in the props and silhouettes.
We threw sheets over the vanity mirrors and moved any masks and makeup to the back of the warehouse where it couldn’t be seen, leaving Sebastian with an unsettling eyeful of bloody weapons and surgical tools laid out on the tables.
He’s not aware it’s all just corn syrup covered on retractable props that couldn’t cut into more than butter, just like he doesn’t know that the hundred or so mannequins lurking in the shadows aren’t real people.
The lights coming through the back windows add to the effect, not to mention I have Jax and Dominic walking in and out of the background, ensuring Sebastian sees legitimate movement.
They’re impossible to track amid the shadows, so if I didn’t know any better, I would think dozens of people were moving about here, too.
And then, a little thing called recognition clicks in for Sebastian when he finally looks at who is in the room.
Only when he sees my face does he finally survey himself, realizing his feet and wrists have been bound to the metal chair he’s sitting in.
As expected, he starts screaming for help but quickly realizes it’s useless when he sees I’m not bothered by it. He knows no one else can hear him.
I anticipate the inevitable, where he begins bargaining, offering me his private jet, a big bag of money, and his firstborn, but of all things, he just shrugs.
“Figured it was worth a try.”
Does this guy have brain damage?
Because he looks wholly unbothered by the scenery in front of him, resting back in his seat as easily as if it were the Italian leather chair from his office. He doesn’t so much as blink, even when I move closer, unsheathing the twelve-inch Ka-Bar from the inside of my jacket.
Huh.
Maybe this asshole has a set of balls, after all.
Sadly, I’m quickly disabused of that notion in favor of something much worse.
Leverage.
As soon as I’m within arm’s reach of him, Sebastian clicks his tongue. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“And why not?” I play along. Let this fucker think he can negotiate his way out of this. It’ll just make it more satisfying watching his world crumble around him.
He grins, and if I didn’t know any better, the sight would unsettle me. Sebastian looks as pleased as Punch, wearing the smile of a man holding a royal flush. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t have a fail-safe in place, did you?”
I hesitate, and it only makes that grin spread further.
“My men have had eyes on your precious little Annaleigh since you two left the police station. I always like to play with my food before I eat it, so I hadn’t been planning on making my move against her quite yet, but when push comes to shove…”
I already know what he’d been planning on.
Making Anna look like a loose end I needed to take care of.
Her ex is back in town, there’s a restraining order out on her, and the police are looking too closely at us both now. It would only be a matter of time before she cracked under pressure and told the authorities what happened. If I wanted to get away with the heist, I’d need to take care of her.
And Sebastian would make it look sloppy.
Because that’s what I am. A lowlife criminal.
He’d make sure to leave evidence that all pointed back to me.
Like stealing my car to kidnap her. The police would write Anna off as nothing more than a desperate, greedy woman who got tangled up with a convicted felon.
If Sebastian’s ankles weren’t secured to the legs of the chair, he’d kick them up onto the table in front of him. “If I don’t call my men every half hour, they will assume something horrible befell me. And you can only guess what they’ll do from there.”
“Bullshit.” I had Moretti’s men watching her. They’d sooner cut off a testicle than fail at their jobs.
Unless they were killed.
Sebastian laughs at the look on my face. “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you try calling Anna yourself? Or better yet, why don’t you give me the time?”
I don’t move. I don’t say anything.
Dominic picks up the slack, pulling out his phone to read, “2:47.”
Sebastian winces, but it’s full of mockery.
“I’d say it’s in your best interest to let me out of here, that is, if you want your girl still in one piece.
Well, mostly. By now, I suspect she’s probably short of her fingernails, but I’m sure you can make the swap before my men move on to something that won’t grow back. ”
“ Oh, that won ’ t be necessary.”
There it is. The expression I’ve been waiting for.
The blood all but drains from Sebastian’s face as he watches in horror to see his bargaining chip come strolling out among the collection of mannequins.
My little canary looks like a goddess in a red dress with a high slit and plunging neckline that shows off those gorgeous legs and tits.
The festival makeup is gone in favor of bedroom eyes and a red lip.
She looks like Marilyn Monroe meets Jessica Rabbit.
And the way she walks, the way her hips sway with each measured step, she’s every bit the femme fatale scoping out her prey.
I’m turned way the fuck on, and it only revs me up more seeing her casually brandish a bloody butcher’s knife.
She examines her nails, all of which are intact, and sets the knife down on the nearby table in favor of pulling on a black pair of surgical gloves.
It’s obviously gratuitous, seeing as how her arms and chest are already splattered and smeared with blood, but what can I say? My girl is every bit the showman I am.
When she sees Sebastian looking at the fresh trail of blood sliding down her arm, she gifts him with an award-winning smile. “I wouldn’t worry about your men. They’ve already been taken care of.”
The fucker looks up at me, his eyes pleading, like there’s a chance in hell I’m going to intervene on his behalf.
Here comes the bargaining.
“Just name your price. It’s yours.” Sebastian rattles off a bunch of shit I have no use for. What the fuck am I going to do with a yacht in the midwest?
I start laughing, and it only makes him more hysterical, pleading to me like the manchild he is, telling me all about how Daddy can give me his place on the French Riviera.
“I don’t give a fuck about boats, or France, shithead.”
“Well, you care about money.” He says this so adamantly, like he knows the first thing about my vices. “That’s why you’ve been going after Westfall—”
I pat his head. “Do everyone a favor here, and shut the fuck up.”
He doesn’t listen.
No, he turns to the only thing he has left.
Playing on my canary’s emotions.
The asshole really doesn’t know how to read a room.
He brings up times they spent together, times that were intimate, times that make me want to snap his neck just to get the mental images out of my head.
Even if there was a chance in hell he could persuade her to let him go, he’s just burying his grave deeper with me .
Thankfully, Anna isn’t buying what he’s trying to sell. She just keeps smiling at him, pressing the face of the knife against his lips, shushing him.
At long last, he finally shuts his mouth, feeling the blood now smeared there once she pulls the blade away.
“Whatever should I do with you?” She says this so sweetly that you would think she was playing with a puppy. Sebastian, however, doesn’t find this too cute, watching her run her fingertips over the spine of the blade in admiration of the steel. “How about I start with your balls?”
“Good luck finding ’em,” Dominic drawls behind him in fake southern accent. “You bring a magnifying glass?”
My canary drags the tip of the blade down the shell of Sebastian’s ear.
“How does that quote go? ‘But so often, things of great beauty are often full of great corruption.’” She hums, contemplating, bringing the knife back to his mouth.
“How well do you think your manipulations will work if I slice off these lips? Or removed these ears? What if I carved into your face until all you could see was bone? Would your pretty words still mean anything? Or is the only thing you can promise just lovely wrapping paper?”
“He’s got purty eyes.” Dominic drapes his hands over Sebastian’s shoulders, that adopted drawl suddenly sounding more like the accent from Deliverance .
Yeah, he’s having a little too much fun with this, and Anna feeds off that energy.
“I got me some formaldehyde. We can pluck those babies right out, and I’ll have ‘em on display in my kitchen before breakfast.”
Dominic may be wearing a mask, but he doesn’t need to. He’s scaring the shit out of Sebastian enough that the pansy can’t even bring himself to turn around and look at him.
Anna simpers, delighted at the prospect. “What a fetching idea.”
She goes over to the tray of bloodied surgical instruments, examining each as if to find which one she’ll be using.
“I’d go with the trephine and ocular scoop,” Dominic suggests, indicating the specific tools.
Anna and I both give him a look, because how the hell does he know that?
While we’re purely amused, Sebastian all but whimpers from his seat. “Please, Anna, you don’t want to do this.”
Just having to hear her name come out of his mouth makes me want to punch every tooth out of it, and I’m not the only one affected by it. My canary’s grin collapses, morphing into something infinitely more unsettling as she reclaims her knife.
Still, Sebastian keeps pleading. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far, I swear.”