But I didn’t cry.I didn’t beg.He noticed this.
I met his eyes.
“You’ve got guts,” he rasped.“But they’re stupid ones.”
He reached behind him, grabbed a knife off a table, and pressed the flat side against my cheek.
The metal was cold, heavy.
“If you don’t talk, I’ll carve the truth out of you.”
I swallowed hard.My pulse thundered behind my ears.But my voice stayed steady.
“Do it.”
He froze.“What?”
“Do it,” I repeated.“Cut me.Kill me.Whatever you think it’ll take.I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
He stared at me like he was trying to decide if I was insane.
Maybe I was.
He raised the knife, then stopped.He snorted and threw his head back with a rough laugh.
“You’re fucking fearless.”
The laugh died instantly.
His boot drove into my shin, then into my side.I grunted, biting back a scream.Pain radiated through my ribs—stabbing, relentless.
When he finally stepped back, I was shaking.
He wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Auction’s on Friday.You’ll fetch a good price.”
My blood turned to ice.
He smirked at the fear he finally saw in my eyes.
“Those proceeds are going straight to my brother’s widow and kids.Consider it… your sacrifice.”
A man steppedtoward my swinging body.
“Stay still,” he muttered.
I spat blood at his boots.
“Fuck you.”
His hand came up fast, a reflex born of violence, but he caught himself at the last second.His jaw flexed as he forced it down, breathing through his nose like he was trying not to control himself.
“Boss said to patch you up,” he snarled.“Not ruin the merchandise.But don’t think I won’t.”
His gaze dragged over me slowly.His eyes lingered too long on my mouth, my throat, the way my body was stretched and helpless.
He stepped closer.