Page 75 of Tempt Me
"Isaac," Rue starts, her tone fierce as she steps forward. "Give me two minutes..."
"Rue, I've got this," I say, instinctively wanting to shield her from any further danger or distress.
Her confidence is unwavering and gorgeous. "I want answers."
"Fine." Amused, I step aside, allowing her to approach the captive. "But I'm not leaving your side."
"Didn't expect anything less." She flashes me a quick, wry smile before turning her attention back to the man secured in the chair.
She draws her knife from the thigh holster and presses it to the man's throat. "Tell us what we want to know." Her command is stern and unforgiving.
"Or what?" the captive taunts, his eyes narrowing as he looks her up and down. "You'll hurt me?"
"Believe me," I interject, my hand resting on the hilt of my knife, "that's a very real possibility."
Rue snickers and digs in deeper with her blade.
“Fuck you,” he spits, his idiocy driving my frustration to get this over with.
"Listen," I warn, leaning in close so he can feel the heat of my breath on his face. "You will tell us where Marco is, and you die quickly. One way or another, you will talk, and I think Rue would prefer to do this the hard way."
She grins at me. "Start talking," she says, her voice laced with steel. "Unless you want your cock sliced off first, followed by your balls."
"Your threats mean nothing to me," he scoffs, his eyes flicking between Rue and me, but the fear is definitely there.
"Fine." I step back, a cold, calculated expression settling on my face. "Have it your way. Rue?"
"Oh, Isaac," Rue whispers, "you do give me the best gifts." She drops her knife to the man's crotch, and he squeaks, scuffling to get the chair to move backward away from the sharp steel.
"Last chance," I tell the captive, my voice steady and unyielding. "Where is Marco?"
"Fuck you," he repeats, glaring at me defiantly, ignoring Rue altogether as if that will make her vanish.
Not fucking likely.
"Very well. My turn." I crack my knuckles menacingly and prepare to make good on my promise.
"Let's see how long you can resist," I say, my voice cold and detached, retrieving a thin strip of cloth and a jug of water from Fran, who slips in quietly and then leaves again, although I'm convinced I saw a longing expression on her face. Like mother, like daughter, after all. "You know what this is?"
"Waterboarding?" the captive guesses with a smirk, but his eyes betray his unease.
"Something like that." I douse the cloth in water and approach him, ignoring Rue's glare. She was ready for some cock-slicing. But I need answers, and I need them now. I'll do whatever it takes to get them. The wet fabric covers his face, muffling his protests.
Rue lets out a soft pant, which I have a hard time ignoring.
Pouring water over the cloth, we watch the captive struggle, gasping for breath. My heart races, not out of excitement or pleasure, but of urgency. For every moment we waste here, Marco remains a threat to Rue.
"Where is he?" I ask quietly, pausing briefly to allow the captive to catch his breath. He coughs violently, sputtering water but offers no answer. "Again."
Rue takes over and pours more water, watching his body convulse as he fights for air.
"Tell us where he is," I whisper to the captive.
"Okay," he gasps, his voice barely audible beneath his labored breathing. "I'll tell you."
"Go on," I urge, removing the cloth from his face.
His eyes are bloodshot, filled with fear and defeat.
