Page 77 of My Solemn Vow

He’s pale and looks like he’s going to be sick. “A while,” he whines.

“Like two or more years?” I snap at him, fist clenching.

“Maybe four? I don’t know.” Marc tilts his head and squints.

“Valor,” I say quietly, drawing his attention away from glaring at Marc.

I don’t know if I want to tell him this, but if the truce is real, then it’s a show of trust, and there can’t be any harm in it.

“I remember Berto saying at Christmas two years ago that the Yakuza were moving in on our territory. He suggested to Gregorio that we attempt a hostile takeover of their business, but Gregorio said it was too big, even for us. The network is so large that it’s impossible.”

Valor turns away from Marc and cocks his head to one side and then the other. He studies me closely.

“It was two years ago. I don’t know what’s happened since then, but if Marc’s information is real, then maybe they’re taking a bigger foothold here.” I shrug, trying to offer help.

“Maybe. An enemy of my new friends makes for a very good team-bonding exercise.” Valor’s lips almost threaten a smile as he quotes me from upstairs.

I look at my smartwatch. We’ve been down here for forty-five minutes, but it’s passed like ten.

“Don’t worry. We have plenty of time.”

I nod, looking over at Marc. “I’m not sure he does.”

Valor turns back to Marc, choosing to pick up the two-handled blade again from the small table. This time, when Valor runs it down Marc’s leg, he takes skin off with it.

His voice booms over Marc’s screams. “When did you talk to the Yakuzas last?”

I force myself not to balk at the disgusting sight and the spray of blood. It’s gruesome.

It’s meat. It’s like a beef roast. It’s not human, it’s beef.

Bile rises, but I draw deep breaths, distracting myself by watching Marc’s reaction and not looking below his waist.

Marc’s head wobbles back and forth before slumping forward.

Valor smacks his face.

Coming to, Marc blinks, shaking his head.

Repeating himself, Valor steps away. “When did you talk to the Yakuzas last?”

Marc sobs, shivering, but I can’t tell if it’s the cries or his body going into shock. “I don’t know how long it was. Like a few days after you all told us that all the fights were stopping.”

“Three and a half months ago.” Valor draws long, slow breaths. “At least you were smart enough to tell them after we moved everything.”

“I told them I’d call the guy when we knew where the action would be.” Marc’s eyes are watering, snot bubbling, and gurgling comes from his throat. The sounds churn my stomach. “But I didn’t.”

I look away from his face and see the blood from his leg running down the chair to a puddle on the floor. I notice, for the first time, a drain a little ways away.Practical.

“Do you want to dirty your hands, princess?” Valor’s voice is sweet, almost playful. “Or do you want me to do as you say?”

I’ve never been in this position. I made threats to Marc’s eyes and his life, but I never knew if I’d be able to do this given the opportunity. Examining the table, I step toward it and grab the brass knuckles that are kinda shaped like a cat’s head. Two pointing bits poke out from the top, and the space between them looks to be roughly about the size of a rib. I slide the knuckles on my fingers because I’ve hit someone before. I’ve punched more than a few people. This much I know I can do.

My heart rate picks up. I dreamed of killing him and getting some sort of revenge. Retribution for what I now know: there isn’t enough therapy to ever make the violated feeling go away. I was one of many. But I’m the only one who will ever get a chance to make him pay for it.

Adrenaline sends tingles through my body as I flex my fingers around the metal, savoring the weight. I can’t even contain the excited breaths sawing in and out of my chest.

Valor doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are locked on me. Every one of my movements has been cataloged on some level since I stepped through the door.Will he step in if I’m doing it wrong? Is there a right and wrong way to torture and kill someone?