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“I wonder why he did that.”
“Because if he hadn’t, I would have, and it would have hurt a lot more.”
“All for one whore.”
“She isn’t a whore. She’s my wife.”
“She’s your brainwashed rape victim. You’re not all that different from me, Decoy. You just look better. That’s how it was so easy for you to lead them all in. So easy for you to slip into the role of loving partner when this one’s—” he gripped Cat’s leg, fingers digging into the muscle with a bruising touch.
Each of my own muscles flinched, my teeth grinding down, causing my jaw to ache. She didn’t acknowledge his hand on her, though.
Numb, she was fucking numb.
“This one’s memory was fucked. You’re welcome, by the way. Thanks to me, you now have happy memories with your little wife/brainwashed rape victim.”
Cat’s face twisted. A tear ran through the blood that had clung to her cheek from a gash near her hairline. That tear wasn’t because of him. It was because of me. And that had something inside me twisting, too.
I couldn’t even fucking go to her without risking her life.
Something was in Rothbart’s hand, positioned between her legs. It was the only thing that kept my twitchy finger from pulling the trigger.
“Her memory seems to be working now. Did you tell her everything?”
My agitated expression told him the truth.
“No…? Bad guys are never honest men. We’re selfish and put our desires first.”
“You know nothing.” A floorboard creaked under my weight, alerting him that I’d moved again while his eyes were on my girl.
“As I said, we aren’t so different.”
“Step the fuck away from my wife,” I demanded, dismissing the upset on Cat’s face and everything Rothbart said, like how we were both selfish—because it was true. Like, how his wife was a brainwashed rape victim—because that was another thing that might gnaw at my conscience.
“Why don’t you tell your wife what happened to mine? It’ll help her understand her current situation a little better.”
Her battered face had questions, finally moving to me. She hadn’t been given details when it came to Candee, and I wasn’t planning on giving them now.
My eyes dropped down her body, the apex of her thighs hidden by Rothbart’s thick and hairy arm disappearing beneath the hem of my sweatshirt.
My blood ran cold, fearing what he was doing, but I kept my emotions hidden when I demanded, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Poor woman met a gruesome end. Do you remember what you did to her? Or did the drugs she gave you cloud your memory?”
“I never took them,” I vowed, eyes on Cat, whose head lifted, silently questioning me again.
How the fuck could he know what happened to his wife? Ollie had cleaned up, Dec had helped, and our own pigs had eaten her ground-down meat, and her bones were fucking dust somewhere.
He couldn’t fucking know.
“Olivier is in some trouble, indeed. Young Rubbichon isn’t happy.”
My stomach rolled. I couldn’t even comment on Ollie and the situation I’d brought on him. I wouldn’t, in case this was a rouse.
“Wondering how I know?” Rothbart’s eyebrow lifted again, higher and almost comical this time, that bruise darkening around the bushy hair. His chunky finger pointed to a corner in the room, to a beefy-looking spider who dwelled there without a web.
“There’s one in every room.” Rothbart’s smile was sinister, his teeth incompatible with his ugly face. “I thought it was your ears that were fucked, not those pretty golden eyes.”
“It’s a camera?”
