Chapter 146

POV Dante

"Looks like we have someone who likes to hit."

"You told me I could hit you every time you make me angry."

"You're angry, huh? Me too, Gray."

I didn't hesitate to slap her ass with a light, provocative snap. Her mouth opened in surprise, rendering her in a brief state of coma—long enough for me to turn her around, press my knees against her leg, and bind her arms.

"If you want to keep breathing, do what I'm telling you. Stay still for a few damn minutes. Just..." I whispered in her ear.

"You're such a benevolent killer... I'm charmed."

I tied her delicate wrists into a knot.

"My floor doesn't go well with your blood, Gray. Avoid making it dirty."

She fell silent, noticing the seriousness in my tone. My patience was running out, as if a cup full of liquid was being emptied drop by drop.

I pulled her again, sitting her on the floor. I grabbed her shirt, receiving predatory looks, but the tear made Emilia have a bigger screaming fit.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm running out of resources," I mocked, avoiding to scan her exposed belly and the start of her breasts.

She wasn't wearing underwear.

I knew that because I'd touched between her legs, and there was no fabric to protect her, only the pants.

I used the torn fabric to tie her feet in another knot.

I stood up, tired, after finishing the work.

"Thank your lucky stars I'm putting you in a seated position and making you comfortable, because I usually get more creative and bind my victims to the wall." Her expression remained tense, though she tried not to show it. — "Sleep, Emilia."

"I'll kill you!" she shouted, her syllables shaking through her teeth.

I didn't comment any further, leaving the office and leaving the door open, knowing that if another strange noise happened, Rachel would bark and warn me.

I didn’t want to look for excuses for what I was doing. Emilia had to die. She couldn’t live anymore. She was a danger. A damn bomb.

I wasn't avoiding killing her. I just needed to understand what might be at stake and what more information she could have stored in that brain of hers.

I walked downstairs to the basement. With every step, I could hear the echo of that man’s scream. I didn't remember his name anymore, but I knew he was one of the transporters from the Factory. He had worked in the same Section that kidnapped us, but he wasn’t the one responsible for the transport. So I was relaxed about him. His death meant nothing to me.

It was just another experiment of my wrath.

"Did you get anything?" I asked Campbell, who was sitting on the floor, his coat already removed and his casual clothes on.

He seemed to be playing a crossword puzzle from the hundredth book he bought to entertain himself.

Vance looked at me as if asking about my delay, in a provoking tone. I didn’t dare answer. Gray was causing more problems than a target, and he expected it to be because of what we had in the past. However, I had already left nostalgia behind. I knew how to keep things locked away and destroy any affection for the girl she once was.

There were no feelings involved. She was a total void to me.

I glanced at the man who was spraying blood, leaning forward as if he were about to pass out. However, every time he leaned, his arms bled more due to the pressure of the wire on the area. If he passed out and fell, his arms would be severed.

I appreciated how there was no will to make our victims comfortable. It was endless torture, dissecting their organs, making Death come slowly and savor the smell of fear, physical pain, the anger of the world, and the regrets of their actions.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross described grief in five stages, but what about the pre-death moment? There was nothing more curious and interesting than analyzing people crumbling, knowing that with every millisecond, the gates of Hell opened to welcome them.

"Please, help me," he begged.

His pallid skin, bloodshot eyes, blood spread over his already torn and indecent clothes. His pants were covered in shit. Fear created wild people.

"Give me the location, and I'll help you."

"I don't have the location..."

"I know you do. Try to think. Make the effort," I snarled, getting closer to his body.

"I did the transport with a colleague. I don't know his name, but he was the one closest to our boss."

"I want a detailed description."

He coughed, vomiting rivers of blood and perhaps remnants of what had been in his stomach.

I took a step back, inhaling deeply.

"I can't say," he continued, coughing without spitting. "He was taller than me. Dark hair, pale skin, must've been around fifty or sixty years old. I know he's a father. Has some problems at home."

And he's afraid of you.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Afraid of me?"

"He knows you're going to hunt him down because of the kidnapping."

Something in my chest cracked.

"He participated?" I growled.

Vance stood up immediately. If he'd been entertained by the shit from his words before, now he was fully focused on what that filthy mouth and its foul breath were revealing.

"Not me!" he defended himself. "He participated without me! He's been around longer than I have!"

"I want the name."

"I don't know!"

Campbell was quicker than me, bringing out a knife, placing it against the man, and running the blade along the side of his face.

The tip slid across the corner of his eye.

Vance also had his patience running out.

"For every wrong word, your eye will be pierced." I hid my hands in my pockets. "You won’t like to feel that pain."

"I know he's called Santoro!" he screamed, fear contorting his mouth and making him tremble. "He lives in the city! That's all I know. Please!"

Another agonizing wave reverberated through the walls.

I swallowed hard, exhausted.

I pulled out my gun and shot him.

The smell of gunpowder invited itself to the dirty game that had already been that space.

His lifeless body slumped forward, his arms pressing against the wire, slowly dripping more blood like fine rain. His forehead was a blood hole. If I looked inside, I would see the emptiness of his head. There was no way men like him had brains. Not even a lobotomy could disconnect the stupidity and inhumanity of these sons of bitches.

"What have you been doing all this time?" I asked Campbell.

He sighed, shaking his head and whistling.

I decided to head to the meeting room. The area was large, with a table for us five, some research materials, photos, and maps that helped us with the task.

The screens displaying the cameras of each compartment in the house, including the bedrooms and bathroom, and some strategic corners of the forest, were placed on a big table.

I grabbed one of Jaxon’s laptops and opened it, doing a brief search of what I had gathered from that dying man.

Santoro. It was a surname that led me nowhere. It sounded Italian, but it could be a nickname to mislead real information that would compromise them.

There weren't that many Italian families in the city, and the guy had made it clear that he lived around here.

Jaxon was much better at investigation than I was. I wasn’t very good with technology, and I didn’t care much for it. I liked how my brain could work, cluster, formulate, and theorize more efficiently than an electronic device. So, I left part of that work to those who were more competent.

Still, I stayed entertained researching a bit more. I didn't time myself until I felt the need to go back upstairs, checking if Emilia had already died or if her screams were still active.

When I reached the office, I found nothing.

Emilia was no longer there. There was no sign of her presence, other than Rachel sleeping, where the stubborn girl’s ass should’ve been.

The ropes and the rag of her shirt were there, lost, chewed up by my dog’s teeth.

How the hell?

I growled, grabbing my car keys and deciding to pick her up before she did more damage and ended up being caught by someone else.

I left the house, got into the car, and turned on the GPS. She wouldn’t go too far. She would probably go back to her house to try and get some things, or something useful. If she kept being dumb, she’d ask for help from her friends or someone who had helped her in the past.

My mind fried.

Christian Norman.

She'd probably be looking for him.

I started the engine, driving through a narrow path in the forest, heading out to the main road.

However, something awakened a sixth sense.

My nostrils flared, my hearing sharpened like an animal on alert.

It didn’t take long.

Before I could rationalize better, I jumped out of the car. Whatever pain I felt from the impact with the road didn’t compare to the explosion of debris my car became.

I watched it burn in seconds, just as I would have been if it wasn’t for my doubts. Because I’d been trained for this kind of thing for years.

But from her? Damn, when did Emilia Gray have time to set something like this up?

She wanted me dead. Burned. Completely finished.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or take it as the beginning of a war. But she was certainly more than ready to fight me.