Chapter 183 No Mercy, Only Torture
Michael had planned it all in his head during the flight back to River City. Land the plane, take his grandmother and the captured men straight to the Johnson mansion, keep Amelia far away from the mess. She didn't need to see the ugliness of what had happened.
But Amelia had other plans. Her call came midair, her voice firm and unyielding. "Come to my apartment first," she said. "Vaughn is here. He's waiting for you too."
When the apartment door swung open, Amelia and Vaughn met him in the doorway. Vaughn's expression tightened almost immediately as Amelia gave him the condensed version of events. Concern etched deep lines into his forehead.
Amelia's eyes swept over the tall, travel-worn Michael, her gaze softening when she saw he was unharmed. Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived. Her attention shifted to the frail, unconscious woman cradled in Michael's arms.
"How is she? Did they hurt her?" Amelia asked, her voice low but urgent.
Michael's grandmother had just passed seventy, her body worn thin from years of illness. Even now, in her weakened state, the traces of her youthful beauty were there—delicate bones, fine features—but four days in captivity had drained the color from her skin and lips. She looked as though the life had been leeched from her.
"They didn't hurt her physically," Michael said, his voice dropping into a colder register. "They kept her sedated with sleeping pills."
Before Amelia could respond, Michael's men hauled in four bloodied men, their hands bound behind their backs. They were dumped into the corner like sacks of grain. Only when Amelia gave a subtle nod did the men release their grip.
"Put your grandmother in the bedroom for now," Amelia said. "I'll check her over in a moment."
Michael nodded once. Belle stepped forward to tend to the old woman. When Michael returned, Amelia was crouched in front of the captives.
"These are the ones who took her?" she asked.
"More accurately," Michael said, his gaze locking on Scarface and his companions, "my uncle hired these three. They pulled her out of the nursing home in the dead of night, hid her in a basement under an abandoned bar, and stayed off the radar. That's why I couldn't track them sooner."
"Before I got to them, my uncle had arranged for a pickup. If I hadn't intercepted them, they'd already be on their way to the ferry."
Vaughn's eyes narrowed. He knew the name. "Efrain hired them? To kidnap your grandmother? What's his endgame?"
"No idea," Michael replied, his tone like ice. "But he thinks the plan worked. He'll be in touch soon."
Scarface stirred first. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, his body tense. Then he saw Vaughn. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his gaze—recognition, maybe guilt—before he looked away too quickly.
Amelia caught it instantly. Her eyes hardened. She stepped forward, ripped the duct tape from his mouth in one clean motion. "Do you know Mr. Vaughn Williams?" she asked, her voice sharp.
Michael's brow furrowed. Even Vaughn looked taken aback. This was one of the men who had kidnapped Michael's grandmother—how could he possibly know Vaughn?
Scarface shook his head quickly. "No… no, I've never seen him before. How could I know him?"
He knew exactly how bad his situation was. Money mattered, but only if you lived long enough to spend it. In Sulien's basement, his two men had been beaten within an inch of their lives. He had been spared the worst only because they thought he might be useful.
Amelia's instincts were rarely wrong. If he didn't know Vaughn, he wouldn't have looked at him like that.
She stepped closer, her voice colder. "Are you sure you don't know him?"
Scarface studied her, taking in the pale skin, the youthful face. She looked like she could be a high school student, maybe the daughter of some wealthy family. He dismissed her in his mind and stuck to his lie.
"Miss, I swear I don't know this man. He just… looks a little like my grandfather. That's all."
"Alright," Amelia said, straightening up.
Scarface exhaled, thinking he'd dodged a bullet. He thought girls like her were easy to fool.
Then he heard the sound from the kitchen—metal clinking, drawers opening. He turned his head just in time to see Amelia emerge, a long kitchen knife in her hand.
Scarface froze. What the hell was this? How had the conversation gone from polite questions to a blade in her grip?
Even Michael's men exchanged glances.
Amelia didn't explain. She simply looked at the two suited enforcers standing closest. "Undo his hands. One of you hold his right, the other his left. Start with his right pinky."
They hesitated, glancing at Michael.
Michael's voice was calm, almost gentle. "What she says, goes. Do it."
They had never seen him look at anyone like that—like she was the center of gravity in the room. Was this the "baby" he'd mentioned on the phone?
"Yes, sir," one of them said, moving without further question.
In less than thirty seconds, Scarface's hands were freed but pinned at his sides. His right pinky was pulled away from the rest of his fingers.
He tried to keep his voice steady. "What… what are you doing?"
Amelia crouched down, the knife catching the light, her tone as flat as if she were reading a grocery list. "You lied. I'm going to make you talk."
The blade scraped across the floor, producing a sound that made the back of his neck prickle.
"I'll ask again. Do you know Mr. Williams?"
"What Mr. Williams? I told you, I don't—"
The knife flashed. His right pinky was severed cleanly.
The man behind him clamped a hand over his mouth at the exact moment the pain hit. The scream never made it past his throat.
His body convulsed violently, eyes rolling back, sweat pouring down his face.
Before he could catch his breath, his left pinky was pulled out.
"Second time," Amelia said, her voice still calm. "Do you know Mr. Williams? Did you do something connected to him?"
"I—"
The blade came down again. His left pinky was gone.
Scarface writhed harder, tears streaming from the pain, his throat still locked under the enforcer's grip.
If they let go now, he would scream the truth. Yes, he knew him. He was ready to say it.
Why the hell had she cut him off after just one word?
Young people these days… no patience at all.