23. Greer #2
"You don't have it in you." But she sounds less certain now. "You're not like her. You're just some?—"
I swing before she finishes, the pipe connecting with her knee with a wet crack that cuts off her words. She screams, the sound raw and satisfying. Zaria watches with dark approval, leaning against the support beam like she's enjoying a show.
"Wrong answer." I let the pipe rest against Ezinne's other knee. "Want to try again?"
"Fuck you!" She spits blood at my feet. "I'm not telling you shit!"
The second hit is harder, and this time I feel something give way beneath the impact. Ezinne's scream turns into sobbing gasps, her body straining against the zip ties.
"Such a good boy," Zaria murmurs, and the praise makes something vicious and pleased unfurl in my chest. "But maybe she needs more convincing."
She moves in close to Ezinne, pulling the knife from her thigh holster. The blade catches lantern light as she traces it along Ezinne's collarbone, not cutting yet but promising.
"My father built an empire in this city," Zaria says conversationally. "And you thought you could take it because he's locked up and I'm just his daughter. That's your first mistake—underestimating me."
The knife dips lower, cutting through Ezinne's shirt to expose her shoulder. One precise cut and blood wells up, dark and beautiful.
"Your second mistake was taking him." Zaria's voice drops to something intimate and terrifying. "Because now there's nothing stopping me from making this last for hours."
Ezinne's breathing is ragged, pain and fear warring in her expression. But she's tough—I can see the resistance in the set of her jaw, the way she's trying to hold onto control.
We need to break that.
I set down the pipe and pick up a pair of pliers from the supply table someone—probably Okafor crew—kept down here. The metal's cold in my hand, and I can already imagine what it'll do.
"Last chance to talk." I move to stand in front of Ezinne. "Give us the name and location. Or I start removing fingernails."
"You won't?—"
I grab her hand and position the pliers around her thumbnail. The metal edges bite into flesh and she goes rigid, finally understanding I'm not bluffing.
"I spent three hours in that room upstairs while your people broke my fingers and asked questions I wouldn't answer." My voice stays level, clinical. "So yeah, I absolutely will. And I'll enjoy it."
I apply pressure slowly, letting her feel it, letting anticipation build.
Zaria watches with parted lips, her pupils blown wide with something that's definitely arousal mixed with violence.
Seeing her turned on by my willingness to hurt, to cross lines, makes my own desire spike despite the pain wracking my body.
"Wait!" Ezinne gasps. "Wait, I'll talk!"
I pause but don't remove the pliers. "I'm listening."
"Vaughn." The name comes out broken. "Vaughn sold you out. He's been feeding Chisom information for three months."
Vaughn. Zaria's crew member who questioned her leadership, who I'd seen at multiple meetings. The betrayal hits like another blow to my already damaged ribs.
Zaria's expression goes absolutely murderous. "Where is Chisom?"
"Warehouse in Newark. Industrial district near the river." Ezinne's words tumble out fast now. "Reinforced building, guards on rotation, he's been there since the raids started."
"Address. Specific."
Ezinne rattles off the location and I commit it to memory. Zaria pulls out her phone, typing rapid-fire messages to what I assume are her crew. Coordinating next moves, mobilizing forces.
"That's everything I know," Ezinne says, desperation creeping into her voice. "You said you'd make it quick."
Zaria looks at me, and in that look is a question and an offer. The choice is mine—end this now, or make her suffer for what her crew did to me.
Nine months ago, I would've chosen mercy. Nine months ago, I was still the person who believed in clean solutions and minimal violence.
But Dylan's apartment burned that version of me away. And Ezinne's interrogation room finished the job.
"Quick doesn't seem right." I set down the pliers and pick up the pipe again. "Not after what you did."
Zaria's smile is absolutely feral. "Such a good boy."
The praise makes me harder despite everything, despite the pain and exhaustion and blood. Because she sees what I've become and celebrates it instead of fearing it. She's not trying to save me from darkness—she's welcoming me into it.
We work in tandem, trading off. Zaria cuts while I break, her knife finding soft tissue between ribs while my pipe fractures what's left of Ezinne's legs. The basement fills with screaming that eventually fades to whimpers, then silence except for ragged breathing.