Chapter 81 #2
Sharpe had tried to sneak out of town by bus.
Cliché, maybe, but in theory not a terrible idea.
The poor idiot had booked a ticket for the wrong one, though.
He could’ve picked a dozen other ways to run, but instead he climbed on and sat in the seats filled with my drugs, beside my men posing as passengers.
Karma really was a cunt, but right now, I loved her.
The room beneath Volatile smelled like concrete, iron, and fear. No windows. No clocks. No way to tell how long you had been here or how long you would last. Sharpe hung from the chain bolted into the ceiling, wrists bound, toes barely grazing the floor, and a single light overhead.
I leaned back against the steel table, arms crossed, watching him shake.
“You’re sweating,” I said calmly. “That’s good. It means that your body is still trying to live.”
Sharpe lifted his head, and blood and spit dripped from his chin.
His eyes were wild, and he kept looking around like he was seeing sounds.
He was tweaking like he’d snorted his body weight in party favors and then decided to spar with his worst nightmare.
The rage and defiance were long gone. Now there was just raw animalistic terror.
“I—I don’t know anything,” he rasped.
Echo chuckled softly, adjusting his grip.
“Aye…I’m sure. Next yer gonna say it was the one-armed man on the grassy knoll.”
I cocked my head in confusion. That wasn’t Echo, that was classic Myles cracking jokes at inappropriate times. He shrugged.
“The Mask or The Fugitive, both fit the reference,” he said in explanation, but that still meant nothing to me.
Sharpe screamed again, and I didn’t flinch. Normally, I would let Echo work at his own pace, slowly breaking Sharpe apart. Pain and fear was a language, and everyone was different. But this was about Princess, and I really didn’t have the patience for Sharpe to play the innocence game.
I pushed off the table and stepped closer, stopping just outside the ring of light.
“She was your TA,” I said quietly. “You gained her trust. You smiled at her in the hall. And then out of nowhere, you grabbed a knife and tried to kill her. I have to say, Sharpe, this doesn’t add up. What am I not seeing?”
His breath hitched. “I’m…I’m sorry.”
“No, sorry doesn’t cut it. That wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I continued. “That was a decision.”
He shook his head violently. “I didn’t—I wasn’t supposed to—”
We all glanced at one another, but Liam’s raised eyebrow said it loudest.
Wasn’t supposed to do what?
I stepped closer. “Say that again,” I growled.
Sharpe swallowed. His eyes darted around like he was searching for an exit that didn’t exist.
“I was told to scare her. That’s all. Just scare her. Make her understand. That was all I had to do, so I made up stupid poems and sent them.”
“What exactly did Ren need to understand?”
“That—” His voice cracked. “That her family needed to pay for what they did. She needed to understand.”
There it was. “Okay, and how did you get roped in with the nutjobs?”
He hesitated.
Echo resumed.
“Okay! Okay, I’ll tell you,” he cried out. “I was just supposed to scare her. I…I’m sorry.”
Echo held a cattle prod under his chin.
“Keep talkin’ and start at the beginnin’,” he snarled.
Sharpe broke fast after that. Words spilled out of him in pieces. Money, gambling, and drug troubles due to his failing marriage. Threats to his life. Promises of protection that had never been real. All excuses.
Christov had approached him first. He’d claimed he understood Sharpe’s pain and had given him a package with money.
I let him talk. Let him bleed information.
It was clear by the end that Sharpe had been used, but I really didn’t give a fuck.
He was a teacher, a trusted person within the school, and he could’ve gone to Dean Henry at any time for help. He chose not to.
But I knew the places, the people, and how someone like Christov worked. He did it to Zigzag and others that we had yet to name.
Sometimes being sucked down the drain didn’t happen overnight. It was a tiny tug here, a favor there, and the next thing you knew, you were in so deep that you couldn’t see the light.
But the answers I wanted weren’t there yet.
I stood in front of him, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“This wasn’t about fear,” I said. “You don’t bring a knife to scare someone.”
His lips trembled. “I swear, I just needed to deliver a message. Scare her and deliver a message. I was never going to stab her.”
“You will tell me where Christov is hiding. And then you’re going to tell me where Patricia is hiding. In that order.”
I really wish Zigzag had managed to put the tracker on Christov’s phone before he was locked up. This would’ve been so much easier. We wouldn’t have to waste time with the fucking piece of shit.
His face went slack.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I swear—”
This time it was my fist that connected with his jaw. More blood flew and splattered the floor. A kidney shot, then one against his ribs, each one provided a tiny bit of relief for the pent-up anger and fear. Each one was for Ren in the pool, blood sliding down her face, and her eyes closed.
I sucked in a deep breath, forcing myself to stop before I killed him. I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t threaten. I simply spoke.
“Your life ended the moment you decided that Ren was collateral damage in your own fucked up life,” I said.
“The only question left is whether you make yourself useful before you die. If you do, then you will die quickly and painlessly. If you don’t…
well, Echo here will have the pleasure of keeping you alive for weeks or months and coming up with new and creative ways to make you scream. ”
He sobbed then. Full-body, humiliating sobs. The kind that stripped a man down to whatever rot lived at his core.
“Tell me…is Christov worth that much pain and suffering,” I asked, my voice almost too kind.
“I don’t know where Christov is,” he cried. “I swear it. He never told me. We always met in secret, in public places, like a coffee shop.”
I believed him, and that annoyed me.
“Patricia,” I said. “You know her.”
His eyes flickered, and that was all it took. I smiled.
“You were fucking her. Well, well, Mr. Sharpe, I didn’t know you had it in you. At least, I know what she paid you. Did that start before or after your wife left you?”
His lip trembled.
I waved my hand. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t really care. Where did these exchanges take place?”
He hesitated, and I pulled my gun. Then, I shoved it under his chin.
“I wonder if I can shoot you at just the right angle so that your face blows off, but you live in extreme agony for hours,” I growled.
He broke. The address was over an hour away. It wasn’t a hotel or anywhere in Portland, but a secluded property surrounded by farmland. When he was done, he sagged as if his body was relieved to be free of the information.
Myles looked at me. “Anything else you want from him?”
I studied Sharpe.
“No,” I said finally. “We’ve got what we need.”
“Please,” Sharpe croaked. “I told you everything. I’ll run, and you’ll never see me again.”
I leaned in close enough that he could see his reflection in my eyes.
“I know, you did,” I said. “Your life was never on the table. No one harms my wife and lives. Do you understand that?” Tears streamed down his face.
“If it’s not me it will be the Curators.
You must know they are hunting you too.” I rolled out my shoulders.
“And I’m a fucking selfish asshole. I want it to be us that gets to kill you. ”
I stepped back and nodded to Myles.
“I need to make a call. When you’re done, meet me in my office. We have someone else to chase down tonight.”
“Aye, we do,” Myles said, slipping the brass knuckles on his fingers.
Liam followed me as I walked to the door.
“No, please. I’m a good guy. I just…ah!”
Sharpe’s screams echoed around me until the heavy door slammed shut.
“What’s the plan,” Liam asked.
“I need to get in touch with Marcus,” I said as my phone rang with a call from Blake.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“She’s gone,” Blake said, his voice shaking.
My blood turned to ice in my veins.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
I hit speaker and looked at Liam, his eyes grew darker with bottled rage.
“Ren was asleep, and Mo was guarding her, so I went to get some coffee for us. When I got back, Mo was knocked out inside the room, and Ren was gone. Fuck, Nash…I’m—”
My nostrils flared.
“No. This is not your fault,” I said.
“But…”
“Blake. Focus. I need you to stay with Edmundo so I don’t have to worry about him. We’ll get Ren back.”
“How?”
“I think I know where to start,” I said, and hung up.
I opened the door to the torture room and whistled. Theo and Myles looked up at me. Lifting my gun, I fired, and Sharpe went lax in the chains.
“We need to go. Now.”