Page 171 of Lethal Torture

“As it turns out, though,” I say, pushing a tablet across the table, “someone had a better idea.”

Frowning, Zin looks down. The tablet screen is open to a view of one of the punishment cells in the basement.

On one wall, Simon Lowbridge hangs by his wrists. On the other, Bogdan Kozlov is strung up the same way. Both have clearly taken a few punches and are sagging at the knees, their feet trailing on the floor.

The door opens, and Paddy and Bryan walk in. “It’s up to you,” Bryan is saying, addressing someone out of shot. It sounds as if he’s reiterating an earlier conversation.

Sophie’s slender figure steps into the room. “And as I already told Luke,” she says clearly, “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Zin stiffens. “Sophie’s not ready for this,” she mutters, staring at the screen. “You need to get her out of there.”

“Were you ready?” I say quietly. “The night you murdered your father and punished every one of the men who had hurt you?”

She raises her eyes to mine, wide pools of old pain that touch me somewhere deep inside. “That was different.” Her voice is small and quiet. “Iwas different. I still am.”

“Are you sure about that?” I hold her eyes steadily. “Years of abuse make us all a little crazy, Zin. It doesn’t mean youarecrazy. Or that you have to stay that way forever.” I nod at the screen. “Sophie asked me for this. Insisted, actually. She wanted the chance to take her revenge, just as you did. Just like any victim would, given the chance.”

Onscreen, Sophie steps forward and places a small white jewelry box on the concrete floor in front of Bogdan Kozlov. She opens it, and tinny strains fill the room, the tiny ballerina rotating mechanically inside. Kozlov stares at it like he’s hypnotized, his eyes wide with fear.

“Remember this, Bogdan?” Sophie’s singsong cadence would be playful if it wasn’t laced with chilling mockery. “Remember how you dressed me up and told me to dance? You told me that if I practiced hard enough, maybe I’d be good enough to join Zinaida in her cage.” She steps back. “So dance, Bogdan,” she says, kicking his feet. “Dance for me.”

Bogdan’s feet begin to move pathetically. Sophie slaps him, hard enough to echo around the cell. “I saiddance,Bogdan. You want toseduceme, remember? How will you ever get any better if you don’tpractice?” Her jeering tone and heavy accent make it clear she’s imitating Bogdan’s own words to her.

I lean close to Zin. “Kozlov will die tonight,” I say quietly. “Slowly.”

Zin nods, an abrupt jerk of her head that is agreement and confirmation. Her eyes don’t leave the screen as Kozlov begins to contort feebly, like a marionette on strings.

Sophie turns to Simon.

“And you.” Her mouth curls. “You liked my dancing so much that you dressed me up like a toy ballerina and made me yourfirst webcam star in Romania.” She nods at someone behind her, and one of the dancers comes in, holding a ballerina’s costume. “So I brought this specially for you, Simon,” she says softly, staring directly into his eyes. “I’m not allowed to kill you, unfortunately. But I can dress you up and make you dance for our audience.” She indicates the cameras behind her. “Right now, Simon, this is being live streamed to a select group of our guests, including several government ministers. We’re also recording it for posterity.” She stands back as the men strip Simon and dress him in the costume, beneath which he is visibly, and very pathetically, naked. “You won’t ever be taken seriously in this town again. Not by anyone who matters.

“Now. Dance, Simon.” She says it mockingly. “Dance like your life fucking depends on it.”

Lowbridge looks around the room sullenly. Seeing only Paddy’s and Bryan’s grim faces, the muzzles of their rifles pointed right at his balls, he starts shuffling his feet.

I bite down on a sudden burst of shocked giggles.

It’s torture, alright.

In some ways, it’s far worse torture than anything even I could have dreamed up.

Bogdan’s legs have stopped moving. Sophie whips around to face him, her eyes flaring with a look I know all too well, the calculated, savage stare that truly terrifies people. A glimpse of the pain and madness caused by years of abuse.

“You’ve stopped dancing, Bogdan.” Her voice still has the singsong cadence, but now the edge isn’t mocking. It’s just chilling as hell. “I think you need somemotivation.” She gives first him, then Simon, a cold smile. “I think you both do.”

The dawning looks of horror on their faces tell me they both know what is coming.

“Bryan,” Sophie says without turning around, “bring it in.”

It’s only when I see the brazier of coals and long metal rod that I realize what is coming.

“Now,” Sophie says, turning the rod in her hand, admiring the red-hot bull’s head brand glowing at the end. “Let’s see. If I give you one brand for each of the girls you’ve shipped over the years, how many marks do you think that will make?” She turns to the men standing behind her. “I think we can turn the cameras off now, Bryan,” she says quietly. “I’ve got this from here.”

The screen abruptly goes black, leaving Zin staring at it in silence, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. Almost hidden from sight, the fingers of one hand curl into her palm.

Her tell.

And suddenly, my humor is gone, along with whatever last shred of conscience has been holding me back.