Page 115 of Peak Cruelty

“You remember me?”I say quietly.My voice doesn’t shake.“You ruined my vacation.And you hurt someone I care about very much.”

His eyes widen.

“You watched.”

I let the pillow slide off.

He chokes in a breath like it’s his last favor.

“Not only do I take my vacations very seriously—she looked at me,” I say.“While you let them do that.”

His lips move.Trying to speak.Trying to reason.Maybe he thinks he can buy his way out.Call someone.Threaten me.Doesn’t matter.There’s no market for this kind of revenge.No transaction.Just debt.

I grip his hair.Slam his head against the wooden frame.

Once.

Twice.

Third time draws blood.

He wheezes something.Maybe an apology.Maybe an offer.Wrong answer either way.

I pull the knife.

His eyes go wide again.Not fear—recognition.

Good.

I press it into his thigh first.Deep.Slow.Twist.

He screams.

Finally.

“That’s for her throat,” I say.“Where she learned not to speak.”

Another slice, shallow, across the chest.

“That’s for her lip.The one your man split open.”

Another.Down the side of his arm.I go slow, like I’m teaching him something.

“That’s for the look in her eyes.”

He begs now.Mouth moving fast.Words tumbling out too quick to land.Promises.Excuses.A plea bargain with no audience.

“You kept her,” I say.

His good eye flickers.

“Not for a week.Not for three thousand dollars.Foryears.”

I reach down, grab his shoulder, and haul him upright.His legs buckle.I let him fall again.

“You told her stories, didn’t you?”I say.“Said she was lucky.Said it could’ve been worse.That the others—what?Fought back too hard?Didn’t listen?”

He’s crying now.Not loud.Just leaking.Like the body knows it’s over, but the ego’s still catching up.

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