Chapter 6 #2
“I—I didn’t— That’s not—” His breath hitched as he realized every direction he tried to run in, every version of his story, would only tighten the noose.
I let him flounder for a beat before stepping closer, lowering my head enough that he couldn’t escape my stare but not enough to give him even a scrap of advantage. He still had to look up at me.
“You’re lying,” I said softly. “What’s so damn insulting about it, is you’re not even good at it.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m telling you the truth,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I wasn’t paid. Not… not directly.”
“So someone was paid,” I clarified, then straightened.
He shut his eyes. “Yes. But not me.”
Progress.
Grace exhaled, the sound sharp enough to cut.
Alphabet resumed typing, voice flat. “There it is.”
Ignacio opened his eyes again, darting between us, realizing every shred of bravado he’d tried to wield had evaporated.
“I didn’t pick her,” he rushed on. “They grabbed everyone they were told to grab. I didn’t—know she would be one until she arrived.”
He cut another look up at me, and I stared at him. Waiting.
“Then…I wanted her so—I just… I just kept her.”
A low, almost murderous sound escaped Bones. Somehow, I rather doubted it was that much of a show. This piece of infected puss had hurt her because he wanted her and just decided to have her.
“No,” I said, holding up a hand, continuing the performance. “Let him finish.”
Sweat soaked his hairline and ran down his skin. Fear had a way of wringing a man out. He sagged against the restraints, breath shaking. “I didn’t pick her,” he repeated, quieter this time, like saying it softer made it more believable. “I just took advantage of what fell into my lap. That’s all.”
That admission—not the words, but the intent—sent a tremor through Grace that wasn’t fear. It was memory. And rage.
I pivoted, enough to see Grace, to gauge her mood.
As shaken as she was, the flush in her face was growing redder.
When she met my gaze though, she just nodded.
She could do this. Good. I spared the pulsating sack of shit in the chair a glance, the remote still dangling from my fingers.
He watched it like it was a blade hovering over his throat.
“Thank you,” I said. Ignacio jerked like I’d struck him. I’d be amused about that later. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Because now he’d confirmed what we already suspected.
Someone ordered the kidnapping. Ignacio had merely taken advantage of his position. He wasn’t the mastermind—just a parasite who latched onto opportunity.
Ignacio blinked hard, as if that sliver of progress might save him. It wouldn’t.
“So,” I continued, “who gave the order? Who paid the bill?”
His breath stuttered. “It—it wasn’t me. I told you. My crew—”
“No,” I cut in, “I didn’t ask who took the job. I asked who paid for it.”
“I don’t— it wasn’t my role—” He squirmed, panic rising like a tide. “Talk to the others. They handled the arrangements. I just—”
I thumbed the remote.
The jolt wasn’t violent, but it was longer—enough seconds that his scream tried to form but caught behind his teeth, coming out a strangled, garbled choke.
His back arched. The zip-ties cut into his wrists as he writhed.
Alphabet actually winced at the duration; Bones looked like he wanted it to last longer.
I let go of the button.
Ignacio slumped forward, panting, sweat dripping off his brow. He glared up at me, eyes watering.
“Hijo de puta,” he spat, voice shaking with fury and pain.
I hit the button again.
A shorter pulse this time, but sharper, meaner. He jerked hard, almost tipping the chair, a broken bark of pain ripping from him.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice to something patient. Almost gentle. “We want a name.”
Bones’ boots creaked as he leaned forward, the sound alone promising violence. Grace didn’t speak—didn’t need to. Her silence was a blade.
Ignacio shook his head, breath hitching. “I—I don’t know! I wasn’t told—”
I angled the remote. “Ignacio. You’re lying again.”
“I'm not,” he insisted, voice cracking. “I didn’t handle the money. I didn’t speak to the guy. That was Rudy’s job. Or Domingo. I swear—”
He kept talking. Rambling. Listing random crew members, shifting blame from one ghost to another like he could exhaust us with names that didn’t matter.
I cut him off with another shock—short, but unforgiving. He yelped, gasped, choked on air.
“Enough,” I said. “We’re not here for the grocery list of your little playgroup. We want the name of the person who ordered the grab.”
He whimpered. Actually whimpered. “I don’t know it.”
I studied him.
No, despite his pleading, he still wasn’t telling the whole truth. As for this part? This part he might actually believe would save him.
It wouldn’t.
I looked to Alphabet. “Give me the other one.”
Alphabet’s eyes lit with something like professional pride.
He set the tablet aside and reached into the kit we’d scattered across the workbench.
What he lifted wasn’t a collar. It wasn’t even finished-looking—more wires, more exposed metal, the kind of improvised cruelty that only brilliant problem-solvers under pressure could fabricate.
“This one,” Alphabet said, handing it to me with a respectful nod, “is designed for… alternative placement.” He demonstrated by creating a loop out of the cabling then miming how to close it. It would work quite well if we tied it around his balls.
Ignacio’s breath froze. Completely froze.
Grace’s eyes didn’t move from Ignacio—not once.
I weighed the device in my hand. Cold metal. Coiled wiring. More intimate points of contact. More targeted pain.
“It’s going to hurt,” I told him plainly. “A lot more than the collar.”
Ignacio’s pulse hammered visibly in his throat. “No—no, please—wait, wait—”
“We are,” I said, perfectly patient. “For a name.”
He shook his head violently, straining against the restraints. “I don’t know— I swear I don’t— I never met the guy, I never talked to him— I only heard—”
I paused.
And the room went dead quiet.
Because he’d said something. Not much—but enough.
Grace leaned in, voice barely a whisper. “Heard what?”
Ignacio jerked like she’d slapped him, then squeezed his eyes shut, as if not seeing us made us less real. “Just… rumors,” he rasped. “Just a nickname.”
Holding the new device loosely in my hand, I sighed. He really was going to make me ask. Fine. “What’s the nickname, Ignacio?”
“I cannot tell you,” he said, his wild gaze jerking to me. “I swear, I cannot. You don’t understand—”
“Honeys,” a familiar voice called from above before Lunchbox strode down the stairs, dragging a bound and unconscious Sinclair with him. “I’m home.”
He flashed a grin when he came in and I kept an eye on Ignacio. His whole body tensed and his eyes widened when he saw Sinclair. What color he’d regained from his earlier writhing drained away once more.
“Did I miss anything?” Lunchbox asked as he dropped Sinclair in a lump and swept his gaze over all of us before honing in on Ignacio.
“He’s about to tell us what we don’t understand,” I said and Lunchbox eyed him.
“We’re listening.”
The man’s throat bobbed. Then he shook his head. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. I held up the new device to Lunchbox. “You want the honors?”
“Got it.” He took it and flicked out a knife, because the man still had his pants on. “Gracie, you might not want to watch this.” Not that it slowed Lunchbox down and when Ignacio tried to struggle to get away, Lunchbox eyed him. “This is a sharp knife, keep struggling and you’re going to bleed.”
That froze him in place.
“I’ve already seen it,” Grace said bluntly. “It’s nothing to be intimidated by.”
After making short work of the man’s jeans, Lunchbox paused to eye his flaccid shaft. “Yeah, I can see that.” When he gripped the man’s dick, however, Ignacio started swearing and the stream of words were directed at Grace.
I didn’t have to know all of them to hear the insults. Lunchbox twisted the man’s cock until he broke off on a scream. Then without waiting, he looped the new device over the man’s balls and pulled it tight so it was secure.
“Last chance,” I told the weeping man who coughed and choked. “We tried this the easy way… now we’re going to get rough.”
“Fuck you!” Ignacio said, spittle flying from his lips. I pressed the button and the man’s scream was brutal. I didn’t let it go on for long though, but the smell was pretty bad. Someone should have said something about burning hair.
“Wrong answer.”