Page 88 of Masked Seduction

His head wobbles, blood spilling from a fresh split in his brow. “I swear… don’t know… just security… no one tells us…”

“Lie.”

I tilt my head, studying the fear twitching under his bruised and bloody face. He’ll break eventually, they always do. The only question is how messy I’m willing to get before he does.

I extend a hand without looking away. Mikail presses a bottle of water into my palm. I twist the cap off with a crack. I tip it and take a slow swallow, letting him imagine, for a heartbeat, that humanity might still live inside me.

Then I upend the bottle over his head. Water and blood sluice down his cheeks, jolting him. He blinks, sputters, blinks again. When his focus locks onto me, it’s laced with panic.

“Last chance,” I repeat calmly. “If you know anything, tell me now.”

He huffs a broken laugh that ends in a wet gurgle. “What else… can you… do to me?”

“Wrong answer.”

I stand and casually walk to the stainless worktable. On it sits a rubber mallet, a welding torch, pliers, and a sharp set of gardening shears I brought for this special occasion. I choose the shears first and turn back.

“We’ll start small,” I say. “Pinkie toes first. Then fingers. We’ll work inward until there’s nothing left to prune.”

Terror shreds what’s left of his composure. “Wait,wait! I–I?—”

“Shoes,” I order.

Denis and Mikail tug them free, peeling off filthy socks. The man tries to kick, but the chair barely rocks—the bindings are too tight. I crouch slowly, laying the cool steel across his smallest toe. He jerks as the sharp blade nips flesh, drawing a bright bead of blood. His scream ricochets off the concrete.

I don’t lift the shears. “Where did Nico take Jenna?”

“I–I don’t know—” His voice trembles.

I raise my eyes, meeting Mikail’s and Denis’s. “Toes always work.”

Panic crosses his features. “Please! Stop! I’ll talk!” He sucks in a breath. I wait for him to speak before removing the shears. “He’s got two ghost houses,” the thug gasps. “They don’t show up on paper as belonging to the family. One of them he lives in, the other is for parties. Girls, coke, no witnesses.”

“Address. Now.”

“I only know the party drop. North of Lake Las Vegas. Corner of Sloan and Hadley. Brown stucco, busted fence.”

Denis is already hammering away on his phone. “It’s a shell corp out of Reno, eighteen month old deed. Satellite matchesthe description.” He shows me the screen. It looks like a squat eyesore drowning in weeds.

I stand, shears in hand. “He’d keep her where screams could get swallowed up by loud music,” I mutter. The thug nods too fast, eyes glued to the blades.

“Shut him up,” I say, turning away.

Denis cracks him across the temple with a pistol butt. The chair lurches as dead weight slumps, then topples over. I don’t bother to watch him hit the floor.

CHAPTER 34

JENNA

The lights of Vegas fade the further we drive, every mile uglier than the last. By the time the SUV jerks to a stop, the horizon is nothing but busted streetlamps and desert dust.

We’re in front of a sprawling, Spanish-style house that was probably gorgeous at one time, if someone hadn’t let it rot. Boarded-up windows. Spray-painted graffiti everywhere. The pool glows an unholy swamp-green under a single security bulb. Broken beer bottles crunch beneath the guards’ boots as they yank me out.

It’s even worse inside. A mix of weed, bleach, and stale perfume stings my nostrils as we enter. Confetti sticks to my heel where the marble’s tacky with something that spilled. I open my mouth and offer a cocky insult before I remember I’m supposed to be terrified.

“Throw all your parties in dumpsters or is this place special?”

The guard beside me twitches. Nico stops mid-stride, turning like a bad Disney villain—slow, dramatic, and slightly amused.