Page 11 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 8
“He’s a serial killer. It’s…his disguise.” I didn’t want to violate the Society code of secrecy and get kicked out again. Especially when I was about to get fired and would desperately need to find a sugar daddy. “He killed my sister, and now he’s after me.”
Mr. Frost ran his hand through his thick black hair. “Jesus. What were you doing sitting around making a sticky note wall with me while this serial killer stalked you? You should have had me call security.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I was too concerned about having a meat shield.
He turned to Dr. Lyons. “And you. Who the hell are you?”
“Dr. Anthony Lyons, at your service. Sorry about earlier.” He grimaced. “Ash told me that someone was trying to kill her so I came as quick as I could. I saw Tanner outside and he said he was waiting for Ash. So I told him that someone was trying to murder her. He freaked out and came with me. And then when we saw you, I assumed you were the murderer.”
Mr. Frost glared at him. “If you ever attack me again, I’ll destroy your life. But I’ll give you a pass this time since it seems like it was a genuine misunderstanding. By the way, you’ve got one hell of a left jab. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“Army.”
“No shit?” asked Frost. “My dad did two tours…”
“Uh, guys,” I said. “There will be plenty of time to bro out later, but shouldn’t we do something about Tanner first? He could wake up any second.”
“I’ll call the police,” said Frost. He reached for his phone.
“Good. I hope he rots in prison. A filthy prison. Filled with germs. And centipedes. And guards who are never on time. And…lots of wigs that won’t stay on properly.” I nodded. Yup. That was what Tanner deserved. Hell on earth. I would have added something about puncturing livers, but I couldn’t decide how to word it. Did I hope there’d be a careless doctor at the prison with him? Or maybe some angry gang members who liked to shiv people right in the liver? Both, ideally. I shuddered at the thought.
“Wait,” said Chastity. “Don’t call the cops yet. We need to interrogate him first.”
Frost stopped dialing 911.
“Shouldn’t we leave that up to the police?” I asked.
“Leaving a suspect to be interrogated by the police is like going to a priest for confession.”
“So…weshouldcall the cops?”
“No. Was my analogy not clear?” Chastity looked at me like I was crazy.
“Not at all.”
“Going to a priest for confession is useless. Unless you’re a little boy and your main goal is to get molested. If you really want to be properly punished for your sins as an adult, you need to confess at a glory hole. #ConfessionHole. You two know what I’m talking about.” She looked back and forth between me and Dr. Lyons and wiggled her eyebrows.
No! Don’t talk about the museum incident!Incident #5 flashed before my eyes. I was a horrible sexual deviant! I wished I could go back in time to when I only had one incident. The OG Incident. The Matthew Caldwell thing.
Gah don’t think about setting dicks on fire right now!I needed to change the topic immediately. “Okay, so how are we gonna do this? Drag him into the bathroom and waterboard him with toilet water until he tells us everything?”
“Works for me,” said Frost. “As long as you get him to agree to pay for all this damage, I don’t give a shit what you do with him.”
“I’m not comfortable torturing a man,” said Dr. Lyons. “But I do know a few useful interrogation techniques from my time in the army.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Chastity. “And please don’t say good cop bad cop. That’s so played out.”
“Right?” agreed Dr. Lyons. “The incentive technique is way more effective.”
“True, but rapid fire is more fun. I’m gonna have that fucker’s head spinning...”
I had no idea what they were talking about. But I was pretty sure Tanner’s eye had just opened for a second. “I think he’s waking up.”
“Shit,” said Chastity. “Okay, you two beef cakes, haul Tanner into the conference room. Ash, you find a phonebook. I’ll get the duct tape.” Chastity ran off to the supply closet.
Dr. Lyons grabbed Tanner’s ankles while Mr. Frost grabbed his arms.
“Do phonebooks even exist anymore?” I asked.
