Page 16 of Little Mate
“W-what…” he pauses, swallowing hard “…What do you want from me?”
“You’re going to answer a few questions and if you lie, there will be consequences.”
“I would never…fuck!” Pain-filled screams rend the air a second after I sever his thumb from his hand, the snap of bone from joint loud inside the room while his flesh tears as if it were fabric. One small tug, and it gives under my strength while his body thrashes in my hold, the pain pulsating through every processor.
“Who was involved in the killing of Paolo Moore?”
“If I tell you, I’m dead.”
“Wrong answer.” Looking over at Josephine, I nod, and she grips the back of Tomasso’s mother’s head, ripping the white shoulder-length hair half off. From just above the nape of her neck to the crown, the tear is clean, and the missing flesh is now in my guard’s hand, a hand that flexes a few times in front of the sobbing, old lady’s face. “You’re already dead, Mr. Mariano. The torture you receive beforehand, though, is up to you.”
“Let them go, and I’ll speak.”
“Another decision out of your hands.” At my words, his wife whimpers, and I look over. Her eyes are on us while she shields her daughter from the sight before her. The woman is brave, her magic is clean, but what surprises me is the anger in her brown eyes directed toward her husband. “I want names.”
“Okay.”
“And hold your hand up for me while you’re at it.” He does, but not the bloody one and I correct him with a tap to the cheek. The slap is hard enough to leave a handprint, but I give him credit for just gritting his teeth and taking it like the man he pretends to be. “The other one.” Doing as I ask, the thumbless limb rises into my line of sight a few inches from my mouth, and I lick my lips. “Bring it closer.”
“Please let them go.” My response to that is a snap of my teeth grazing his pointer finger. A few beads pool at the small cut, rolling down, and I breathe in deep. My hunger rises while a growl builds in my chest. Not yet. “Your time is almost up.”
“The Rossi family.” Tomasso’s voice is low. A shaky whisper.
“Dead.” He looks back at me and gulps. I smirk. “Every guilty party of that clan is dead.”
“The Salicios.”
“Also dead. No surviving members that I’m aware of, but not by my hand. Seems they had another enemy.” Something akin to guilt flashes in his eyes, but it’s quickly overpowered by the pain of mourning. “Next name.”
Tomasso looks forward again, his eyes glassy. “That’s it.”
“You’re lying.” My hold on his neck tightens, and I dig a nail into his skin, deep enough that the tip slips inside to the first knuckle while I bring my lips down to his ear. “The truth, asshole. Or I’m going to begin dismembering you piece by piece while your family watches. While your daughter cries out for her father, or will she? They don’t seem very fond of you, at least that’s what the glare on your wife’s face projects.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Tomasso manages through my grip. “The blank names never showed up at the meetings. They don’t interact with our species.”
“And yet they made a pact with you.” Eyes closing, he gives me a barely perceptible nod. “This began here with the help of a lover…am I wrong? You and Mrs. Lilibeth Salicio.”
“Please stop.”
“Lilibeth loved her human mate…” I tsk, sneering at the idiot “…but that didn’t stop you from fucking her from time to time and her from easily giving in. Her greed matched your own.”
“We were never more than friends.”
“So, it wasn’t your scent on her skin when I killed her?” I don’t miss the way his heartbeat stutters for a moment. The way his body shudders as if in pain at the confirmation that his lover is dead.
A strong hiss comes from someone in the room, and it’s not a vampire. No. This is a woman scorned. She’s shaking where she now stands, her hold on the girl in her hand’s wavering for a moment, but his wife’s quick to regain composure. “You dirty rotten mother…” the slender woman in a long, green dress takes in a deep breath; she swallows back her ire as the child’s quiet whimpers greet the room’s ears “…you brought shame and disgrace into our home. You fornicated with a whore, used someone’s discontent to your advantage, and then signed our death when you shook hands with those men who hold no—”
“What men?” I ask.
“I don’t know them, but one was very powerful. Ancient.”
“Shut up!” Tomasso’s mother yells then; I scent more than fear on her. It’s desperation.
“More than Moore?” I ask, ignoring the old bitch. The wife’s low yes eliminates a few suspects for me, but it also leaves me with a growing need—a demonic thirst for vengeance that’s unsettling. This isn’t personal. The attempt wasn’t made on me or my kind, and yet it feels as if it were. Nonetheless, I won’t stop until I find her. “Cover her ears.”
That’s all the warning I give as I use my free hand to intertwine my fingers with the fool’s and bend his backward. At a steady, painful pace, I force the bones to give—the wrist breaking with ease, and yet I don’t stop when his wailing intensifies.
If anything, his weakness is an insult to my very existence.