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“One wrong move and I’ll shoot you in the kneecap.”
Horror etched across Peter’s face. “My knee? Why not just kill me?”
“Who knows. I might do that too,” I said nonchalantly.
“We should get started. Since you passed out on me last time I was here, I’ll ask you again. What’s Phoebe’s real name?”
I unfastened both of his ankles. “Move so you don’t eat the floor when you stand up.”
He groaned as he attempted to bend his legs.
“Her name, motherfucker.” I waved the gun in front of him, reminding him of my promise to take a knee.
“Phoebe Jenkins.”
I shook my head. “Wrong.” At least, I thought so.
“I swear on my mother’s grave it’s Phoebe Jenkins.” The corner of his mouth twitched. The bastard was lying. I untied his wrists, allowing him a trickle of hope. He flexed his fingers and moved his arms. It took him a few minutes, but he slowly sat up while I waited for his answer, my patience thinning.
“Stand up.” Apparently, I needed to scare the asshole, just not enough for him to pass out again.
Peter slid off the table and tried to get his feet to work. His limbs were limp noodles from lying down for hours.
I pointed the gun in the direction I wanted him to walk. “Head to that corner.” Backing away while I watched him stumble across the room, I turned on the water faucet and picked up the black hose. “You might need the wall for support.” Laughing, I flipped the nozzle so the sprayer would blow full blast and soak the motherfucker. Hopefully, he would smell better.
“That hurts!” he yelled as I continued.
“And your point is?” I walked around Peter, washing the piss out of his jeans. A yellow puddle covered the floor as I sprayed the rest of him. Once I finished, I turned off the faucet and tossed the hose in the corner where I’d found it.
“You can walk for a few minutes.” I collected the water and sandwich from the bag and approached him. “Eat slow or you’ll be lying in your puke.”
He snatched the food and bottle from my hand, his gaze cutting to the pistol. Peter might think differently, but I knew he was too weak to wrestle the gun from me. It would be fun if he tried though.
“Does Phoebe know what you’re doing to me?” Peter glowered at me as he twisted the cap off his water and took a drink. He unwrapped the turkey sandwich and took a bite, chewing slowly.
“Not yet. You put her in the hospital. They’re monitoring her concussion.”
Something flickered in his brown eyes. Regret?
“Who is she to you?” I folded my arms, flexing and causing my biceps to bulge through my T-shirt.
“My girlfriend.”
I flinched. His words might as well have punched me in the fucking balls. “For how long?”
His face turned ghostly white.
“How long?” I stomped toward him, barely containing my temper. Maybe it was time for some target practice.
“Since she was in high school.” His voice cracked and hovered above a whisper as he cowered away from me.
I shoved my hands in my jean pockets. “She was a minor.” I frowned. “Son of a bitch. Were you her teacher?” It was an educated guess, but I had hit the nail on the head with the sheer terror that twisted his face. I was going to make this bastard pay for taking advantage of a girl that needed to feel safe after she’d walked away from everything. Thirteen years ago, she’d lost her home and her mom, Maxine, who had died unexpectedly. Ariana had lived through enough.
“Did Phoebe consent?”
He smirked. “Oh yeah. She begged me for it. When she ran, I chased her and punished her.” Peter’s eyes widened as he realized he’d slipped up.
“How did you punish her?”
