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“Send Delta my regards,” she says, and opens the passenger-side door, filling the car with a burst of fragrant air.
She steps out, blowing me a kiss before walking down the gravel path toward our little cottage. Her hips sway, making my blood heat. I watch her, mesmerized, as she disappears around the corner. Then I make my way to the interrogation room.
Father hasn’t been a captive for twenty-four hours, yet he’s barely recognizable. Gone are his hair and beard, and the lower half of his face is still swollen from having every tooth extracted.
Despite being naked in a darkened cell with concrete walls, he sits in his interrogation chair like it’s a throne. Wires connect his body to a polygraph machine through a blood pressure cuff, fingertip sensors, a chest band, and a mass of electrodes.
Isabel sits at a table by the door, watching needles scratch data onto a strip of paper. I step inside, inhaling cool, damp air carrying a whiff of blood, and lock gazes with my sister.
“How is he?” I ask.
Her shrug tells me everything I need to know—Father is still being uncooperative.
His eyes remain closed in a semblance of deep meditation, yet the monitors attached to his body betray the spike in his vital signs. They go haywire, displaying enough erratic readings to suggest he’s on the verge of panic.
I snort. “You can’t hide from us, Delta.”
He opens his eyes, fixing me with a glower of defiant contempt. “What’s wrong, old man? You looked so at ease when I was the one attached to the chair.”
Father flares his nostrils but doesn’t speak. If he thinks he’s wearing us down with silence, he’s sorely mistaken. Every operative we liberated holds a deep-rooted grudge, and we have more volunteers eager to tend to Father than there are hours in the day.
He will break. The only question is when.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our past. About your lessons. About how you taught me that pain builds character.”
A muscle in his temple flexes.
I close the distance, bring a cup of water to his mouth. A few drops fall onto his lap, making him finally open his eyes.
“Thirsty?” I ask with a smirk.
He gazes up at me, his eyes flickering with rage.
“Camila’s going to make a full recovery,” I say. “Your little charade with Dolly failed. No matter how many drugs you used to alter my perception, I will always recognize the woman I love.”
Father remains silent, his swollen mouth locked into a tight grimace. His eyes, however, burn with impotent malevolence.
I pull away the cup. “You taught me about power and control, but you never grasped compassion. Or even love. And now, it’s time for you to learn from me.”
Shaking his head, he releases a dry chuckle. “Obviously, I failed to teach you the fine art of interrogation.”
The corner of my lips lift into a smile. “Why waste time asking questions you won’t answer when I can have revenge?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Psychological tricks?”
“Don’t mistake me for a man who makes veiled threats.”
I walk to the table, pick up a needle, and dip it into the water. Once it’s wet, I slide it into a point on his hand, watching for the slight twitch that confirms it’s in the right spot.
The bastard doesn’t even flinch. Neither do his vitals.
Rage simmers in my veins, but I hide my fury beneath a calm façade, dunking another and targeting a point on his lower leg, pressing it into the muscle. Each needle goes in with precision, tapping into the acupuncture pathways of pain and control.
With every insertion, his vital signs begin to fluctuate, accompanied by a faint twitching in his brow. His stoic façade cracks, and his grimaces morph into a full-on wince. Sweat gleams on his brow, and he clenches his fists as I place them into points on his inner leg, forearm, and foot.
Isabel appears at my side, attaching small crocodile clips onto each needle.
“Electro-acupuncture?” Father asks, his voice incredulous.
