Page 121 of Chaotic Curse
His eyes are hard, but his wrists tell the truth.They’re red and raw from fighting the rope.His ankles are bound to the chair legs, and the sock in his mouth is wet.
I set the tray next to him.
“Before I take that out,” I say, gesturing to the sock, “let’s be clear.Nobody will hear you out here.You scream, you waste breath.”
His eyes narrow.
I yank the sock free.He spits.A hot splatter on my boot.
I look down at it and then back at him.“You done?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”His voice is rough, hoarse from the gag.
“What does it look like?Keeping you from running your mouth about my little visit to your place.”I look into his eyes.“I just need something concrete.Evidence of what you’ve done.Then we’ve got a stalemate.You keep quiet.I keep quiet.”
“You want a confession?I’ll give you a confession.”He lets out an ugly laugh.“Take out your phone.Record it right now.”
I shake my head.“A confession in a barn, tied to a chair?That’s worth shit.I need something that sticks.And not just in court.Something your family, your friends, your business buddies couldn’t forgive.Like raping an underage girl in Colombia.”
His eyes flash.“She was of age under Colombian law.”
The punch to his arrogant face lands before I even think about it.The crack echoes in the rafters.
My palm stings.
“She didn’t consent,” I say, low.“So her age doesn’t matter.”
He tugs at the ropes, chair scraping against the floor.“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.”I pace around his chair.“And I know your niece wouldn’t want to hear it.”I grip his shoulders from behind.“You like your cushy life?I’ll let you keep it.Not because you deserve it, but because I’m not in the mood to add another body to my conscience.Even yours.”
Something shifts in his face.
Guilt?
No.
It’s more like he’s calculating, trying to figure out what he can get away with.
“You want proof?”he says finally.“In my closet.Back wall.You’ll find a safe.In it is my diary.Every detail about what I’ve done with Jacinto Agudelo.And pictures.”
Diary?
Reyes sure doesn’t seem the journaling type.
Still, my gut goes cold.
“Pictures of what?”
“Taken while your girlfriend was entertaining me.”
My second punch knocks his head sideways.“You sick fuck.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Then why keep the pictures?”I step in.“Did you get off on those photos?Alone?”
He doesn’t answer.Which is an answer.
