Page 87 of Finding Elodie
“I don’t know anyone with that name!” Valentino protested.
“Protecting her is valiant, but stupid,” the man told him, and brought the board down on his thighs.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Valentino yelled, desperate for the man to believe him.
Thankfully, the guy paused in his beating. “Hmmmm. I think I might believe you. She may have been using another name. She was on the Asaka Express with you. You had your arm around her fucking shoulders when you docked in Sudan after the ship was hijacked. Am I ringing any bells?”
Valentino blinked. “You mean Rachel Walters?”
The man beamed as if Valentino had just told him he’d won a million bucks. “Ah, Rachel Walters. Yes, that’s her. I remember now, that’s what the newscast said her name was. Where is she?”
Valentino’s heart dropped. The guy had been fucking with him all along. If he knew Rachel’s name the entire time, why was he beating him to try to get it out of him? Nothing made sense, and Valentino was in so much pain he couldn’t think straight. He opened his mouth to tell this asshole that he had no idea where the damn cook was, but before he could say anything, a piercing agony went through his thigh.
Screaming, Valentino jerked his hands, forgetting they were restrained behind him. Looking down, he saw the hilt of the knife that had been at his tormentor’s waist, now sticking out of his thigh.
“Oh, I missed,” the man said, then reached for the knife.
“No! Don’t!” Valentino yelled, but he was too late. The man yanked the blade out of his leg, and Valentino threw up once more.
“This will all stop if you just tell me what you know about Rachel and where she is. You looked awfully buddy-buddy with her when you got off the ship. Don’t lie and tell me you don’t know where she went. Is she on another ship?”
Valentino’s mind spun. He’d do anything to make the pain stop, even give up Rachel. He had no loyalty to her. No way. But the problem was, he honestly didn’t know where she was. He’d done everything he could think of to get the frigid bitch into his bed, but she’d resisted. He’d assumed she was gay…until he saw her with that fucking Navy SEAL. It pissed him off enough to try one more time to fuck her, but she’d lit into him after he’d put his arm around her at that news conference. Bitch.
Apparently, he’d been quiet too long, because the knife came down once more, this time dangerously close to his dick. Valentino screamed, then shivered. He was cold, so damn cold. And tired.
He closed his eyes, only to open them when he felt the knife being pulled out of his leg once more. It almost didn’t hurt anymore. Blood pooled under his ass on the chair, and Valentino knew he was in deep shit.
“Tell me and this stops,” the man said almost gently.
“I don’t know,” Valentino whispered.
“Wrong answer,” the insane asshole said.
Then the pain came from Valentino’s shoulder. His head lolling to the side, he saw the hilt of the knife inches from his face, sticking out of his upper arm.
“Where is she?” the man asked as he ever so slowly pulled the knife out of his flesh once more.
“I don’t know!” Valentino said more forcefully. “After the news conference, I never saw her again!”
“You have to know something,” the man insisted. “Did you overhear her talking to anyone from the corporate office? Did she call anyone? She couldn’t have just disappeared. Tell me what you fucking know.”
Valentino wracked his brain. He needed to come up with something to give this guy, otherwise he was going to continue to be tortured. The pain wouldn’t stop.
Then something he’d all but forgotten flashed to his mind.
“The number!” he shouted.
“What number? You better start talking, or the next thing I’m gonna cut is your dick.”
“I tried to catch her alone in the laundry room.” Valentino almost tripped over his words, trying to get them out before this lunatic chopped off his cock. “She ran off, but there was a piece of paper. She dropped it! Must’ve come out of her pants pocket or something. It was a number.”
“What kind of fucking number?” his torturer said, then punched him in the face for good measure.
Valentino could feel blood dripping off his chin but had no idea where it was coming from. His nose? Cuts on his face? His mouth? He felt around his mouth with his tongue and realized he was missing a couple of teeth. Shit, he’d always had perfectly straight teeth, and he hadn’t even needed braces to get them.
“Damn, you’re either stupid or fucking stupid,” the man muttered, then leaned down in front of him.
Valentino had no idea what he was doing—until the most excruciating pain yet radiated up from his foot.
