Page 104 of Condemned By Betrayal
Logan leans his ear closer to Chris’s mouth. “I’m what? I shouldn’t have pulled his teeth.” The second part he mutters to himself.
“Ilyas.”
Logan straightens, frowning. “And who’s that?”
“A thief.”
Logan raises a brow. “You’re saying I was a thief?”
Chris nods, breathing harder. We don’t have much time before he blacks out.
“So why’d you need a thief?”
“You stole the King of Saudi Arabia’s crown.”
“And you got impressed with my skills, so you wiped my memory and made me your man. Got it.” He jerks his thumb in my direction. “And what’d he steal that made him eligible?”
Chris’s remaining eye turns to me, then just as quickly, back to Logan. “He broke into Alessio’s security.”
“Ah, and that made him even more desirable. What was his name?”
He looks at me again. This time, he holds my gaze.
“Salvario De Falco.”
The words hit me with brutal force. I frown, glaring at him. He trembles in his chair. Logan slaps his face back toward him, breaking his eye contact with me.
“You’re lying. I’ll give you one more chance to answer nicely. The next time won’t be nice. Who is he?”
“Not lying.” He shakes his head. “He... is... the Butcher... of Naples.” His voice fades; he’s losing consciousness.
Logan grabs his sweat-soaked hair and yanks his head back. “Then who the fuck is that man in Naples?”
“My man.” The words barely come out before his head becomes dead weight in Logan’s grip, his mouth falling open and his eye slipping shut.
Logan shoves his head back against the chair and looks at me. “Shit. This is seriously fucked up. What do we do now?”
Matleon
“What’s your real name?” I ask, calmly, though it’s the last thing I feel.
What I’m actually feeling is the need to rip off his skin and tear out every vein, muscle, and organ—one by one—until nothing remains. And I know even that won’t be enough for what he’s done to my sister. No amount of torture ever could be.
“Hunter Blackwood.”
“Who sent you?”
I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from his mouth. He doesn’t speak. The moment he hesitates, he cries out. The bastard is in a torture chamber, wires connected to his head, triggering endless pain in his pain circuits every time he refuses or tries to lie.
“Chris Flisher,” he heaves.
“Why?”
“To kill all of you.”
I drag a hand through my hair, losing my calm again. Zo puts a hand on my shoulder. I step aside, and he takes my place at the chamber.
“What was the plan?” Zo intones.
