Page 283 of Vexatious Queen

Sometimes being sucked down the drain didn’t happen overnight. It was a tiny tug here, a favor there, and the next thing you knew, you were in so deep that you couldn’t see the light.

But the answers I wanted weren’t there yet.

I stood in front of him, forcing him to meet my eyes.

“This wasn’t about fear,” I said. “You don’t bring a knife to scare someone.”

His lips trembled. “I swear, I just needed to deliver a message. Scare her and deliver a message. I was never going to stab her.”

“You will tell me where Christov is hiding. And then you’re going to tell me where Patricia is hiding. In that order.”

I really wish Zigzag had managed to put the tracker on Christov’s phone before he was locked up. This would’ve been so much easier. We wouldn’t have to waste time with the fucking piece of shit.

His face went slack.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I swear⁠—”

This time it was my fist that connected with his jaw. More blood flew and splattered the floor. A kidney shot, then one against his ribs, each one provided a tiny bit of relief for the pent-up anger and fear. Each one was for Ren in the pool, blood sliding down her face, and her eyes closed.

I sucked in a deep breath, forcing myself to stop before I killed him. I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t threaten. I simply spoke.

“Your life ended the moment you decided that Ren was collateral damage in your own fucked up life,” I said. “The only question left is whether you make yourself useful before you die. If you do, then you will die quickly and painlessly. If you don’t…well, Echo here will have the pleasure of keeping you alive for weeks or months and coming up with new and creative ways to make you scream.”

He sobbed then. Full-body, humiliating sobs. The kind that stripped a man down to whatever rot lived at his core.

“Tell me…is Christov worth that much pain and suffering,” I asked, my voice almost too kind.

“I don’t know where Christov is,” he cried. “I swear it. He never told me. We always met in secret, in public places, like a coffee shop.”

I believed him, and that annoyed me.

“Patricia,” I said. “You know her.”

His eyes flickered, and that was all it took. I smiled.

“You were fucking her. Well, well, Mr. Sharpe, I didn’t know you had it in you. At least, I know what she paid you. Did that start before or after your wife left you?”

His lip trembled.

I waved my hand. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t really care. Where did these exchanges take place?”

He hesitated, and I pulled my gun. Then, I shoved it under his chin.

“I wonder if I can shoot you at just the right angle so that your face blows off, but you live in extreme agony for hours,” I growled.

He broke. The address was over an hour away. It wasn’t a hotel or anywhere in Portland, but a secluded property surrounded by farmland. When he was done, he sagged as if his body was relieved to be free of the information.

Myles looked at me. “Anything else you want from him?”

I studied Sharpe.

“No,” I said finally. “We’ve got what we need.”

“Please,” Sharpe croaked. “I told you everything. I’ll run, and you’ll never see me again.”

I leaned in close enough that he could see his reflection in my eyes.

“I know, you did,” I said. “Your life was never on the table. No one harms my wife and lives. Do you understand that?” Tears streamed down his face. “If it’s not me it will be the Curators. You must know they are hunting you too.” I rolled out my shoulders. “And I’m a fucking selfish asshole. I want it to be us that gets to kill you.”