Page 7 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Eric flies as low under the radar as I do, even lower because of his line of work.

I don’t know if I can name-drop him. I don’t want to endanger him.

Hell, there’s a good chance that if I mention him, he’ll end up here alongside me.

He has protection, sure, but whatever Monster’s job is, I have a dreadful sense that he might be as powerful and well-connected as Eric.

If my brother’s life could be at stake, then I can’t use him. He needs the element of surprise.

Monster takes my refusal to answer as an admission of guilt. “Right.” He pushes up from his seat, the motion deliberate and measured, a movement that stretches time just long enough for panic to take hold in me. My stomach lurches.

Then, his hand moves. A knife slides free from his belt, wickedly sharp, catching the light as it flashes into view. My pulse stutters. I flinch before I can stop myself, before I can mask the raw terror gripping my chest.

He closes the distance between us in a few short strides, every step a countdown that’ll inevitably end in unspeakable pain. A fine film of sweat slicks my skin, cold with dread. He thinks I’m lying, and he’s going to slit my throat because of it.

This is how I die. I suppose it’s fated, in a way.

It was always meant to go like this. My birth was a sin of its own; I’m the product of a broken, beaten woman and a tyrant of a man.

Of course I was meant to be killed like this, in a cold cell somewhere, at the hands of someone whose wrong assumptions will lead him to take an innocent life.

Monster grabs the back of my chair in one hand and holds the knife to my neck. Tears sting my eyes at the cool press of steel against my skin, but I force them back. Make myself tamp them down. If I’m going to die, then I’ll do it with some dignity.

“Tell me everything you know about your father’s operation,” he rumbles, voice deepening by an octave.

“ Everything . How many men he has working for him. Where his safehouses are. What his day to day looks like. How you lured my brother to you and handed him over to your father. Tell me everything.”

So, he does think that I played some kind of role in his brother’s death.

More specifically, he thinks that I led his brother to my father.

Which means that Monster is at odds with my father, and that’ll most likely eventually lead him to his death.

Nobody escapes a rivalry with Luther Sharpe intact. Few even live to tell the tale .

“I don’t know anything,” I stress. “I don’t know who your brother is. I told you, I escaped my father years ago, and I didn’t go back. I have no contact with him. Someone else is paying my tuition—I can’t tell you who because I’m protecting them, but I promise it’s not Luther.”

“Lies will only worsen your pain, bitch,” Monster hisses. “You got in touch with my brother. Probably used your body to draw him out—he was always game for a good screw, and your prettiness is the perfect lure. Then, you told your father where he’d be. Admit it.”

“I didn’t ,” I stress. “Your intel is wrong, I swear . I would never do that to someone—”

“Admit it!” he roars.

Anger gives me wings. I lean forward, pressing into the knife, until I’m nose to nose with Monster.

“I didn’t—fucking—do it. But if your brother was anything like you are, he probably got himself killed without needing my help—” I cut off with a brutal screech as sharp, biting pain ignites in my right thigh.

It eats through my skin, melds into my muscle and bone, then spreads outwards with every single beat of my heart.

I’ve felt pain like this before, but not in years— fuck , it hurts.

It’s agony. It’s blistering heat that causes an unbearable chill in my core.

It makes me yearn to do anything if only to make it stop.

Monster stabbed me in the thigh. Tears spill over my eyes, filtering down my cheeks as I lose my battle with my composure.

“Where did you lead Sam so that your father could pick him up?” Monster demands.

“I didn’t!” I cry out, then scream when he twists the knife.

God, the pain is unbearable. I can feel the blade cutting through my muscles and veins, weakening me and ensuring that escaping from here will be a whole hell of a lot harder.

I won’t be able to run any time soon—not with this stab wound in my thigh.

“You are going to die here,” he hisses. “I will be your judge, jury, and executioner. Unless you want to spend what little time you have left on this earth in sheer agony, you’ll tell me what I want to know .”

“I don’t know anything!” I shout, my voice hoarse.

My bluster is gone; my confidence and dignity are gone.

There’s no reasoning with him. At this point, the best I can do is endure the torture and try to keep myself as intact as possible.

That’ll be a hard task to achieve, considering the fact that Monster will torture me until I give him answers, and I have no answers to give him.

A second pair of footsteps sound. I manage to lift my head enough to glimpse another person, another man entering the room. He’s tall, as tall as Monster, but not quite as muscular. He’s dressed in a suit as if he’s preparing for a formal dinner rather than a torture session.

“God damnit ,” Captor 2 sighs. “We discussed this. I thought we agreed to start out gentle .”

“She insulted my brother,” Monster snaps.

“Get out,” Captor 2 says. “You’re done here. If you can’t control yourself for fifteen minutes, then I can’t trust you to do your job.”

Monster snarls and turns to look over his shoulder. I can only imagine the scathing glare he pins Captor 2 with. I breathe raggedly, waiting for the pain to ebb, but it doesn’t. It deepens, turning into an eternal ache and spreading through my body.

Captor 2 arches an eyebrow. “Get. Out. I’ll handle things from here. When you’re ready to behave and do your job, I’ll add you back into the rotation. Go cool the hell off.”

Monster acquiesces with a growl. He stands and rips the blade out of my thigh.

The pain doubles, triples , until nausea rises in my esophagus and nearly forces me to throw up.

If I had anything in my stomach, I’m sure I would, but as is I just bend over and heave.

It’s too much, worse than anything imaginable.

I’ve endured broken bones and intense beatings when Dad was in a bad mood, but never anything like this.

Nothing could compare to this. I almost want to die if it means an end to the pain.

No . As soon as I have the thought, I veto it. This is not the way my life ends—not if I have anything to say about it. I’ve survived horror before, and I’ll survive this horror again.

Monster gives me a disgusted look before spinning on his heel and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Captor 2 fixes a cold grey gaze on me.

Something about this guy raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

His eyes are dead—empty. Lifeless. They look like the filmy eyes that belong on a corpse, not the eyes of a human being with emotions.

Monster is absolutely terrifying, but at least there’s life in his gaze.

He might be an anger-driven menace, but he has feelings.

I don’t think Captor 2 does, which makes him far more dangerous. He won’t get angry and stab me, but I think he’d lose no sleep over dismembering me and peeling my skin off while I scream.

“Scarlett, right?” Captor 2 says. He walks further into the room. Instead of taking a seat in the free chair, he rounds the table until he’s in front of me, leaning back against it as he observes me. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a predicament. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

“Just like I told your psycho partner, I don’t know anything ,” I hiss, trying and failing to keep the ragged edges of pain from my voice.

“I don’t know what my dad did to you, but he’s done terrible shit to me, too.

He’s evil, and I escaped him three years ago.

I have no contact with him. If he finds me, he’ll probably kill me or worse. ”

“Is that so?” Captor 2 asks. “Well, the intel I’ve seen and heard suggests otherwise. There are bank statements detailing your father transferring money to you. Why would he do that if you have no contact?”

“Your intel is wrong,” I seethe.

Captor 2 places a hand on my thigh, right over my stab wound. A whimper escapes me as pain reignites. I glance down to see that blood is spilling freely from my skin.

“Are you sure about that?” Captor 2 asks, starting to apply pressure.

“Yes,” I cry. “Yes! Please, god, stop .”

Surprisingly, Captor 2 does. He straightens, gazing down at me impassionately.

“I suggest you reconsider your answers. A doctor will be in shortly to see to your wound. Don’t try to get help from him; he isn’t here to save you, only to keep you alive so long as you’re useful.

” He takes a step away. “I’ll see you soon. ”