Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2) (12 page)

My eyes go wide with panic as he reaches down, gripping me under my arms, anchoring me to his chest. Immediately, I begin struggling, kicking and screaming, trying anything I can to get away. Nari stands and shoves at his chest, pushing to separate the two of us. Having secured me with his left arm, he lets loose a right hook, nailing Nari square in the jaw. Instantly, I stop struggling, all of the air frozen solid in my lungs as Nari’s body goes tumbling head over heels into the mattress. She tried to help me.

Why would she do that? Jeong chuckles as he spins, heading for the door. The entire time, my mind is reeling, trying to figure out who Nari is and why she tried to help me.

E
XHILARATION.
T
HAT FEELING OF EXCITEMENT
or happiness one experiences. Most people experience it quite often. I’m not one of those people. In fact, I hadn’t experienced any sort of excitement or happiness, not even when I was married to Sabrina. No, the only time in my life I experience any kind of exhilaration is on the job . . . that is, until I met her.

Until she walked into my life and flipped it the fuck over. Now, I can’t even think straight most days. The job I once derived all sorts of pleasure from barely sends a twinge of anything through the numbness. What’s worse is this job . . . this job has been everything to me for the last ten years. Hell, I chose this job over Sabrina. Fuck, looking back, there were so many things that I could have done differently.

Not that I’d really want to. We weren’t right for each other. That and she happened to be a conniving bitch. Not my Goddess, though. No, not her. Sighing, I run a hand through my hair.

Fuck. I need her like I need air to breathe. I’m not even sure why. It’s like an addiction. I’m going crazy without her. I can’t eat. I can barely sleep. I have no idea how in the hell I’m focusing enough to lead this team.

That’s a lie. Yes I do. I’m doing it for her. Deep down, we both know I’m coming for her. A growl rumbles deep in my chest. She better know.

A heavy hand comes down on my shoulder, bringing me out of my musings. Glancing toward the owner, I see Sam peering down at me. Cocking his head to the side, he asks, “You ready to get this show on the road?”

“Yeah,” I grumble, coming to a stand.

“The Colonel and the rest of the team are already waiting.”

Unable to locate my voice, I nod. Sam and I make our way to the room in the back of the abandoned building where we’re housing Chee. Colonel Parker stands to the left of the door, speaking in hushed tones with Brighton as Noah and Cooper wait in anticipation. Noticing my arrival, Noah quips, “Well, well, well, it’s about damn time Romeo showed up. We need to skin us a Capulet.” Chuckling, I shake my head. “Only you, Casa-Noah, could make an interrogation romantic.”

Noah grins smugly. Folding his arms across his chest, he replies, “Yeah, well, it was poetic.”

“Uh, don’t they die in the end?” Cooper asks.

Brighton sucks in a shocked breath as the color drains from Noah’s face. Sam grimaces at the smile dropping from my face, a scowl quickly taking up residence.

“No one is going to be dying on my watch,” Colonel Parker barks.

As a unit, we nod our agreement. The mirth is gone, depleted in one shot. Closing the distance, I stride to the door, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal. From the corner of my eye, I see Brighton and Sam take up positions, flanking both of my sides. Still facing the door, I ask, “Anyone not ready to do this?”

“No,” they answer as one.

“Let’s get this party started.”

With a forceful shove, the door flies open, hitting the wall with a resounding crack. Chee startles, hurling his eyes open. His skin grows wan as he watches the six of us approach. A ferocious grin taunts the edges of my mouth as I notice Chee squirm in the chair he’s bound to. Adrenaline pumps, rushing through my blood stream as I saunter toward the chair in the middle of the room.

I come to a stop a few feet in front of the chair. “Well, look what we have here, boys,” I say, giving the guys a brief glance over my shoulder.

The sinister looks and feral smiles each of them don are enough to scare the hell out of the baddest motherfucker around. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say they could give me a run for my money. With a grin that lacks mirth, my head whips back around. Each of Chee’s arms and legs are separately bound to the chair, zip ties making it impossible for him to escape.

“So, are you ready to talk?” I ask.

Chee stares blankly out into the room.

Chuckling, I close the distance between us, gripping his hair in my hand. With a yank, his head is forcefully ripped backward. His neck strains, bulging at the awkward angle. Remaining silent, he doesn’t exhibit any sign of emotion. Tightening my grasp, I twist his neck further, pulling him toward my torso.

“I asked you a question, and I expect an answer,” I snarl.

The corner of his eyes strain ever so slightly, although he remains calm, not showing any other signs of emotion.

Another chuckle rumbles from deep within me. “Ahh. I see. It looks like you plan on doing things the hard way. Well, not to worry. We have ways of making you talk. Isn’t that right?”

“Sure as hell is,” Sam growls.

Releasing his head with a push, I give it an extra shove with my elbow for good measure. The room erupts in laughter as Chee groans in pain.

Walking around the chair, I move to the table that holds an array of tools. Running my fingers nimbly along the surface, I play with each one for a moment, contemplating their uses.

“You know my name is the same in every language. No matter where I go, it never changes. Word travels, spreading like flies on a dead carcass. The words may change, but the meaning . . . the meaning stays the same.” I pause, turning to look at him with a predatory gleam in my eye.

“In German, they call me the todesbringer. Arabic, I’m known as ataa almawt. Russian. Russian’s a very manly name . . . nesushchiy smert. It rolls off the tongue with ease . . . yet never fails to intimidate the bravest of men. Spanish, now that’s another story. It’s almost poetic when the call me portador de la muerte. But here . . . here in Korea, you can really see the fear in a person’s eyes when they hear my name. When jug-eum ui buhwal is whispered, and the bringer of death sinks in, registering for the very first time.” The final words were uttered with slow deliberation.

Chee’s breath stutters, his eyes growing large as I step away from the table, a long spear point blade grasped in my palm. Strolling in his direction, I fiddle with the blade, tossing it from hand to hand. Halting in front of the chair, I grasp the blade by the hilt, watching as fear fleetingly appears in his gaze.

“Now, I believe I asked you a question.” My voice drops to a menacing growl.

Chee continues to stare blankly at the wall on the other side of the room. A wide grin splits my lips at his attempt to evade me. It’s misguided, really. I always get the answers I seek. I’ve yet to meet anyone who hasn’t broken under my . . . attentions. Full-bodied laughter resonates from behind my shoulder, causing Chee to flinch. Quirking an eyebrow, I cock my head in the direction of the boisterous laughter.

Colonel Parker stands several feet away, his hungry gaze intently focused on Chee. In his hands, he holds the picana. Damn. Daddy isn’t holding back. He’s ready to fry this fucker to find his little girl. And the picana will do just that.

I’ve used it plenty of times. It’s perfect for extracting information since the wand delivers high voltage but low current electric shock. Plus, it’s travel size. You just hook that bad boy up to a transformer or a car battery and you’re good to go. Instant tool of the trade . . . Well, for us anyway.

Beaming at the Colonel, I ask, “Found a new toy, sir?”

Without taking his eyes off of Chee, he answers, “No, more like getting reacquainted with an old friend.”

Noah snickers. “He’s a smooth operator.”

Brighton rolls his eyes and elbows Noah in the side. “Always the bloody comedian.”

“Hey, when do I get a shot? I’m dying to use my new Jimmy Lile,” Cooper interjects.

Sam laughs as he pats Cooper on the back. “Patience, Blade. Patience. You’ll get your turn.” Biting my lip to keep from laughing, I turn back to the Colonel, who’s yet to take Chee out of his sight.

“Sir, is there something you would like to do first? Because if there isn’t, I have a plan that I’m going to stick to.”

“And what would that be?” he asks.

“Well, first I’m going to remove his clothing. Hopefully, I don’t knick anything vital in the meantime, but you never know because I can be awfully . . . clumsy.” I let my words permeate the air before continuing.

“Then after that, I really thought about skinning him. I really just want to start carving him up piece by piece. I think he’ll make a nice work of art . . . maybe something resembling a nice Picasso.”

The Colonel chortles. “That’s definitely one way to do it. But what do you say you use that spear point blade to cut his clothing off? If you happen to slice off an appendage or take a knick or two out of his skin, that’s okay, too.” He pauses, watching the expression on Chee’s face morph from blank to horrified in a matter of moments.

Smirking at Chee’s reaction, the Colonel takes a step forward, his voice deepening just a fraction as he continues. “Then once he’s rid of his clothing, we take the picana wand, hook it up to the battery, and we make him talk.” His voice trails off with the last of the words, his eyes remaining focused on Chee.

“Well, that sounds like a plan to me. What do you guys think?” I quirk an eyebrow in their direction.

“Sounds good to us,” Sam replies.

“Yeah, I’m good. But I really wanna sink my Jimmy Lile into his thigh,” Cooper touts.

“You’ll poke your eye out. Or is it you’ll poke his thigh out? No, wait. You’ll bleed him to death, that’s what it is,” Noah chimes.

“Shut your bloody pie hole,” Brighton mumbles.

“Touchy, touchy,” Noah pouts.

“Enough,” Colonel Parker interrupts. Sighing, he gives his head a shake. “Is this really how they function?” he asks.

Smiling, I reply, “All the time, but it works for us.”

“Well, let’s get this show on the road. Let’s go, men. We’ve got work to do. First things first, let’s get this asshole’s clothes cut off.” He smirks.

“Uh . . . age before beauty, sir,” Noah quips.

Internally, I groan and roll my eyes. Only Noah could make a damn interrogation seem like a freaking night at the comedy club. God, I love my team. Getting down to business, I bark out, “You heard the man, fall in. Let’s go. Jester, you first since you’re so damn hell bent on turning this into the comedy hour.”

Noah groans at the use of his call sign. Stepping forward, he takes the spear tipped blade out of my hands. Giving me the stink eye, he moves forward, erasing the distance between himself and Chee. With the spear tip, he slices up the middle of his shirt from navel to neck, purposefully making a long shallow cut along the center of Chee’s chest. Standing, he steps back, admiring his handiwork for a heartbeat. Taking a breath, he walks around to the backside before slicing down the back of the shirt, scoring Chee’s flesh and backside in the process.