Page 119 of Ruined By Blood
"Cortez. What exactly did you promise him regarding Sienna?"
Sterling's eyes dart between me and Alessio, calculating his odds. "Just... business. A marriage arrangement. Nothing?—"
I don't let him finish. My hand shoots out, gripping his pinky finger, bending it back until he screams.
"That sounded like a lie," I say, voice dropping lower. "Let's try again."
"Fuck! Fine!" Sweat pours down his face. "Cortezwanted exclusive access to her. I promised him she was untouched."
I let out a dark laugh. "We both know that's bullshit."
"Not untouched—" he gasps as I increase pressure on his finger. "Just... exclusive. No one else would touch her after him."
The rage building inside me is nuclear, but I keep my expression neutral. Control is everything in this room.
"Names," I demand. "Every man who touched her. Starting with the first."
"I don't... I don't remember them all," Sterling stammers.
My hand moves to the table, selecting pliers this time. Sterling's eyes widen, tracking the movement.
"Then start with the ones you do remember."
When he hesitates, I don't wait. I grab his hand, prying back his thumbnail with the pliers. His scream echoes off the concrete walls.
"Davenport!" he shouts. "Richard Davenport is one of them!"
Blood wells from beneath his nail as I ease the pressure slightly. "Keep going."
"Williams, Peters," he gasps, rattling off names between ragged breaths. "Jensen, Rodriguez..."
I commit each name to memory, a kill list forming in my head. Some I recognize—businessmen, politicians, men with wives and children who pretended to be respectable while abusing a teenage girl.
When he runs out of names, stuttering to a stop, I twist the pliers. Another scream tears from his throat.
"That's not all of them," I say, voice deadly quiet. "Not even close."
"I can't... I don't remember everyone," he pleads.
I put down the pliers and pick up a hammer, tapping it against my palm. "Then we'll have to jog your memory."
Sterling's eyes lock on the hammer, true terror dawning on his face. "Wait! Please! I have records—a black book in my office safe. Behind the painting of the Venice canal. Combination 38-24-17."
"Alessio," I say without turning. "Send someone to verify."
Alessio pulls out his phone, stepping away to make the call.
I lean in close to Sterling, whose breath comes in panicked gasps. "While we wait, let's discuss your wife."
"That was different," he says, attempting dignity despite the blood and sweat covering his face. "Charlotte needed treatment. She was unstable, a danger to herself?—"
The hammer connects with his kneecap before he can finish the lie. The crack of bone is followed by a howl of agony that bounces off the walls.
"Wrong words," I say, watching him writhe in pain. "Try again."
Istand in my mother's room, watching her flip through the pages of a thick folder. It's strange seeing her here—the woman I thought I'd lost forever. Her dark waves fall forward as she studies the financialdocuments, and I catch glimpses of myself in her delicate features.
"These accounts are extensive," she says, her voice still soft but gaining strength each day. "The trust fund my parents left... Henry never had legal right to most of it."
