Page 145 of Lady Killer

A club hammer. Capable of demolition work, much like a sledgehammer, but lightweight enough to be wielded single-handedly. Beautiful in its simple brutality.

I turned to face the sheep that had attacked my woman.

He scoffed when he saw what I had in my hands.

“Let me guess, you’re going to break every bone in my body if I don’t tell you what you want to know.”

My grip on the hammer flexed.

Then I laughed. Full bent-over belly laughed.

When I caught my breath, I stood up and wiped a single tear from my eye before one last chuckle escaped me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said. His heart rate had picked up, and he’d lost a degree of his certainty.

This was only the beginning.

I swung the hammer up to meet my palm with a loud smack as I approached him.

“It’s funny,” I said, defaulting to my usual affect.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s funny that you think I give a shit what you have to say,” I said dully before swinging the hammer and bringing it down as hard as I could on his collarbone, shattering it on impact.

The screaming started.

Stepping back, I cracked my neck.

“Breaking every bone in your body would be a waste of my time,” I said, putting the hammer down before striding over to grab the simple wooden chair sitting in the corner. After dragging it under the blubbering sheep, I loosened his chains just enough so that he could sit on it . . .

Were he a threat, I would have secured him to the chair. But given that he was still crying over one broken bone, it was obvious he was an amateur.

Picking the hammer up again, I came down to squat in front of him. I forced his chin up using the cold steel head.

“I don’t want any information from you,” I said, as I gripped his thigh tightly to brace his leg as he began to cry.

The hammer swung again.

His femur snapped in half.

The screams became louder.

“I only want to make you suffer.”

There were 206 bones in an adult human body.

Michael passed out after I broke less than 4 percent of them.

When I broke his second femur, he said he’d tell me anything I wanted to know.

After I smashed his left wrist, he sobbed that he had never hurt anyone, that he just helped to bring in the girls.

When I smashed the right one, he vomited and told me what a horrible mistake this all had been. Two broken ribs later, he lost consciousness.

“You didn’t even try to get him to admit if he was the killer or not,” Lucian said dryly.

“That man is not the Virgin Sacrifice Killer,” I said, shaking off the excess blood from my hands

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