Page 215 of I Will Break You
“I wasn’t—” Harlan screeches.
He’s trying to deflect attention onto Nocturne, who he doesn’t think is in contact with Delta. But I’m intrigued.
“Why are you directing us to Nocturne?” I ask.
Harlan slumps on his seat, his narrow chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. I give him a few seconds to recover from two consecutive electric shocks before repeating my question.
“Nocturne wants Delta dead,” he says through panting breaths. “X-Cite Media was his baby. He set it up to stream femdom content from his club and then Delta corrupted his dream.”
“Nocturne doesn’t approve of the snuff movies?”
“He hates it. Snuff goes against his safe, sane, and consensual principles. He used to run a nightclub called X-Cite. Then his patrons abandoned him when Delta switched the BDSM content they enjoyed to snuff. Some of them reported Nocturne to the police, thinking he was behind the murders. He got attacked. His home burned down twice. Hell, he even got arrested and went to jail.”
“Where can I find Nocturne?”
“He just started up a nightclub called the Ministry of Mayhem at Melrose Manor. It’s a mansion by Simon’s Pond.”
“I want you to look at a photo and tell me if this is Delta.”
Harlan trembles. “Keep me blindfolded. I don’t want to see your face.”
I tear off the hood, finding his eyes squeezed shut. Whimpering,Harlan leans away from me and bows his head, determined not to look me in the eye. It’s ironic how he curls into himself and trembles like a wounded animal, considering he got caught trying to inflict the same treatment on a child.
“You’re thinking I might spare your life if you don’t see my face?” I ask.
He nods. “Listen, I’ve answered all your questions. Let me go, and I swear I’ll keep this our little secret.”
My lip curls at the pedophilic phrasing. “Jenson.”
Camila activates the electric shock, filling the vehicle with Harlan’s screams. Grabbing his hair, I wrench him upright.
“Let’s make a deal,” I snarl. “You lead me toward your boss and then I’ll let you go.”
He shivers and nods.
“Now, open your eyes.”
He cracks open an eye, his face falling slack. “Xavier?” he rasps. “Xavier Wetwang?”
I blink, surprised he recognizes me without the hair wax or facial prosthetics, but I don’t dwell on why he’s committed my features to memory. I shove a picture I scanned from Father’s house the day I killed my stepmother and brothers.
“Is this Delta?” I ask.
“Yes.” He gulps, his gaze bouncing from the picture to me.
“Who else might have contact with Delta?”
“Dolly,” he says.
“Who is Dolly?”
“His wife, but I haven’t seen her in years.”
I unfold the picture and show the stepmother I murdered. “This woman?”
He shakes his head. “Not her. Dolly is younger, with curly brown hair, green eyes, and she’s much shorter than Delta.”
My brow furrows. Why am I not surprised Father is a bigamist?