Page 68 of King of Cruelty

“Too well.”

Debra closed the door in our faces. Thudding and the clinking of metal on the other side, and then the door flew open. A hand beckoned. “Please, come in. I want to— Ineedto know who did this to me.”

KENZIE

I gestured for the guys to stay behind, then stepped in, letting Debra close the door behind me.

I looked around the apartment in surprise, but I really shouldn’t have been. Nothing about the Merchants should’ve surprised me by that point.

When Bane said all the lower-floor apartments were empty, I expected them to be empty! Instead what met my eyes was a leather sectional, full kitchen, big screen on the wall, dining table with Debra’s half-eaten breakfast, and a patio entrance that showcased a group of firefighters spraying down a burning car.

The whole place was nicer than my first apartment, and no one even lived here full-time. But then, what seemed like waste turned out to be good fortune. There were dozens of people trapped in the building now. It’d be ten times more uncomfortable if there was nowhere for them to sleep and eat.

“Please, sit,” Debra said softly. “Can I get you anything?”

“Of course not. You don’t have to serve me or worry about being a gracious host right now.” I dropped down in an armchair. “I’m the one who’s here for you.”

She gave me a wry grin. “You’re right, but I can’t help it. Feels strange for you to be taking care of me. You’re so young. Young enough to be my daughter.”

“Only if you had me when you were three.”

Debra barked a laugh, then caught herself—as if startled that her body remembered how to do that. Taking a seat across from me, she smiled. “Three, huh? You’re a little charmer, aren’t you. I’m not in my twenties nor do I look like I am, but I thank you for the compliment. It’s nice of you to give me one considering...” She gestured to her face. “No one else will for a long time.”

I didn’t wince, but I wanted to seeing what those beasts did to her face.

Everything below her honey-blonde hair and above her chin was a riot of black, blue, purple, and green bruises. Her left eye was half swollen shut. Her lips were split and scabbed over in four places. Her nose was crooked, and she had a scar across her cheek—telling of a cut that sliced deep.

“I...” I halted, trailing off as my eyes went back to that scar.

“They would’ve approached victims who held a grudge against Adeline, and they would’ve likely done it face-to-face.”

“Each time the woman got angrier and angrier with my aunt—going on about her being a coward who doesn’t give a shit about her own father. Aunt Della backhanded her across the face and sliced her cheek open.”

“Yes?” Debra prompted, snapping my eyes up.

I swallowed hard, mind spinning. It could be a coincidence. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands of people with a scar on their cheek. It wasn’t proof they were the psychotic leader of a murder cult.

But she’s in her forties. That means twenty years ago when the Brotherhood started recruiting, she was in her twenties. That’s more than old enough to begin carrying out a vendetta.

“I was wondering,” I began, schooling my face. “If you don’t mind sharing, how did you end up in the house if you didn’t know Luca? From my experience, and the experience of the other women I’ve spoken to, he preyed on mostly single mothers in his apartment buildings. He wined and dined them—us—first, made us believe he loved us, and then he walked us willingly into hell.

“Did the other men who work for him do the same thing to you?” I asked. “Does he have a whole team of guys out there pulling the Casanova Cunt routine?”

She snorted. “Casanova Cunt. That’s a good one, and it sounds like the bastard earned that title and more, but no. No creepy landlord preyed on me, or convinced me he loved me in exchange for chaining myself to a wall. I’d never fall for something like that.

“No, I lived right here in Leighbridge when I was taken.”

Wrong. Luca hunted exclusively in the poor neighborhoods of North Quay and Rockchapel. Practically a different world from where the other part of the business, the adoption agency, was located. The man couldn’t sell kids in their own neighborhood. Too high a chance they’d be recognized.

“I’m a criminal law attorney,” she explained. “I own my own practice on Martindale Street.”

Wrong again. Luca never would’ve taken a high-profile person with a mess of clients and employees who would miss her.

“I live— lived,” she rasped, pushing out those fake fucking tears. “I lived in a penthouse on the west side, near the galleries. One morning I was in my building parking garage, heading to my car to leave for work. I heard a noise behind me, but before I could turn to look, I was struck on the back of my head and everything went dark.” She choked on a sob, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I woke up in the house.”

Eeeeehhhh! Three strikes, you’re out. Luca never targeted rich women living in penthouses, and he didn’t go around bashing people over the heads in a place where he could be seen. He was always careful. So careful he only went after poor, abandoned women that no one would miss, and no one would believe.

And that’s not you, Debra Whoever-The-Fuck-You-Are.

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