Page 82 of Illusionist
I backhand him across the mouth. Hard enough that his head snaps to the side and fresh blood spatters the floor.
“Rule one,” I say conversationally. “You don't talk about her. At all. Understood?”
Roman spits blood, glaring at me with undiluted hatred. “Fuck you.”
“Wrong answer.”
I grab the knife Cole left on the workbench—a thin, sharp thing perfect for precision cuts. Roman's eyes go wide when he sees it.
“Now,” I say, testing the blade's edge against my thumb. “Let's discuss what's going to happen to you.”
Footsteps on the trailer stairs announce the arrival of backup. Teddy appears first, taking in the scene with his federal agent's eye for detail. Cole and Logan follow, both grinning when they see Roman chained on the floor.
“Well, well,” Cole purrs, pulling out one of his throwing knives. “What do we have here?”
“Nova's abusive husband,” I explain. “The one who's been torturing her since she was fifteen.”
Logan's expression goes murderous. “Want me to start a fire?”
“Not yet. We're going to take our time with this one.”
Teddy closes the trailer door behind him. “What about evidence? Body disposal?”
“I've been thinking about that.” I turn the knife over in my hands, watching light play along the blade. “Roman here drove himself to the carnival. Drunk, angry, looking for his runaway wife. Tragic accident waiting to happen.”
“Car crash?” Cole asks with interest.
“Bridge. There's one about twenty miles north of here, crosses a deep ravine. Very dangerous in the dark. Especially for someone who's been drinking.”
“He'll be recognizable,” Teddy points out. “If they recover the body.”
I smile. “Not if we break the right bones first. Make it look like impact damage.”
Roman makes a strangled sound behind me.
“First things first, though,” I continue. “He needs to understand what he put Nova through. Twelve years of fear. Of pain. Of being trapped with no escape.”
“How long do we have?” Logan asks.
“Evening show starts in three hours. We need him in that car and over the bridge before then.”
“Plenty of time,” Cole says, spinning his knife. “I can make three hours feel like eternity.”
I look down at Roman, who's trying desperately to escape his bindings. His eyes are wide with terror now—the same fear Nova lived with every day.
“Here's what's going to happen,” I tell him conversationally. “You're going to experience a fraction of what you put her through. Then you're going to die. Your body will be found in a car wreck, and everyone will assume you crashed while driving drunk and angry.”
Roman frantically shakes his. “You can't do this!”
I kneel beside him again, close enough that I can see my reflection in his eyes. “The only thing left to decide is how much you suffer first.”
Roman's struggles intensify, but there's nowhere to go. No escape.
Just like Nova had nowhere to go for twelve years.
Time to balance the scales.
29
