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I grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back to look up at me.
“Not likely,” I whispered, jerking his head away and releasing him from my grasp. He spat blood from my punch to his face and inhaled a deep breath, hissing at the pain across his chest as his blood began soaking into his pants. “I’ve got all night. How much pain can you handle before I break you?” I rolled my wrist and flexed my hand. His jaw was a rock, but I wouldn’t let him see me as weak.
“You think your death toll is high right now? You should see Roman’s.” He chuckled lightly as he rolled his neck and flexed his hands again. His wrists had turned red from the zip ties, and they were close to breaking through the skin. Good.
“If he’s so unstoppable, then why can’t you tell me where he is? Let him fight his own battles.”
“Because I am not a rat.” He spat his words with venom, and it drove me over the edge. I am going to make him scream until he passes out, and then when he comes to, I will do it all over again.
“We’ll see about that.” I started dragging the knife along his torso, breaking skin wherever I could. He fisted his hands, groaning against the pain and shifting in his seat.
When I had finished carving up his chest with the word ‘rat,’ I moved to stab his other thigh and, for good measure, slash his other arm. His blood was dripping to the floor, surrounding him in a small puddle at this point. I tried my best to avoid stepping into it.
“Now, if my anatomy is correct. If I were to stab you right here—” I stabbed the knife into his side a few inches below his rib cage. “You should feel all of the pain with very minimal damage.” I cackled, pulling the knife out as I stepped back from him, and he let a scream break from his throat.
“Where is Roman, Michael?” I asked in my sweet saccharine voice, wiping the blade of the knife on whatever part of his pants wasn’t already soaking in blood. I enjoyed the jump from sweet to psycho; it always gave me a rush.
“Go… fuck… yourself.” He panted, his breaths clearly becoming labored from the pain and loss of blood. His eyes were starting to water from the strain.
“I think I just might do that later, but first, I need to finish my job.” I cooed as I stabbed him again, just below the last spot in his side, keeping the knife in him and twisting it.
“Roman. Location. Now.” I demanded.
He cursed, blood flowing out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin.
“Fuck you, fine!” He spat out as much blood as he could so he could speak. “He’s at his private villa in Grand Cayman. He’s been there for the past few months. No one knows of it because he bought it under the table; there’s no record that it even exists.” His chest was heaving with his words; I might have punctured something important. Oops.
I ripped my knife from his side and stood there for a few minutes, waiting for Alexis to confirm if the information was accurate or not.
“He’s telling the truth, and from the feed of his security cameras, he’s exactly where Michael said he was. Madison is leaving now to grab a private jet from Charlotte. We are not going to waste any time on this. We’re done here.” She spoke.
I raised a brow at her words. She must have had a couple of her hacker friends on standby to gain that much information already. She was fast, but that was faster than she could ever have pulled off alone. But regardless, we finally had him, and now I could finish this and be one step closer to leaving this work for good. One step closer to a future with Atlas, free of complications.
“Thanks for playing Michael. You were a lot of fun.”
I sliced his throat with my knife, not letting him get any more words in, and then stepped back, watching him bleed out completely. The color drained from his face, and his body went completely slack.
Once he had stopped breathing, I took my knife and broke the zip ties around his wrists, then removed the ropes from his ankles. Replacing my knife in my sheath, I lifted his body to remove him from the chair and was startled by a loud bang, dropping him to the floor.
What the fuck was that?
I turned my head to look over my shoulder but was taken out before I could even see who it was.
Without warning or a second to think, I was abruptly thrown across the floor by a strong body, smacking my head on the cement floor with my landing. I brought a hand up to my scalp and groaned, my vision blurring slightly as I attempted to get a good look at who just threw me on my ass. The force of the throw had knocked my hood off my head, so I quickly pulled it back over to cover my brows and jumped up to stand.
I had landed a few feet away from where the light covered the floor, giving me a small advantage of blending into the shadows. My heart was racing; I could feel it beating hard against my chest.
“Who the fuck are you?” I hissed, pulling my knife from its sheath and pointing it at the man who was looking down and standing over a very dead and mangled Michael August. He slowly turned his head to look at me, and as our eyes met, my body went rigid—I stopped breathing. He lifted his badge in the light, its glint causing a blinding flash.
“CIA. Drop the knife and get your hands up.” Atlas. I really was completely fucked.
“AJ, what the—goddamn.” Another man entered the warehouse and stopped behind him, holding his gun down as he took in the body. “The fuck did they do to him?” He didn’t take any notice of me.
“Don’t you fucking move!” Atlas didn’t break his eye contact with me.
Adrenaline surged through me, and my breaths became heavy. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate. I was a rabbit trapped in a corner—the fox ready to strike at will. He was the predator this time, and I was his prey.
Tearing my gaze from Atlas, I quickly accessed my surroundings for an exit, my attention catching on a hallway that I hoped led to a back door out of here—it was that or throwing my body through one of the windows.
