Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Matteo’s quiet over the line for several seconds before he says, “I’ll meet you there.”
We hang up, and I glance back at Simon Moore, who’s shifting around in the back seat like he has a prayer of loosening the zip ties binding his hands and legs together.
He mumbles something under his breath, but I can’t make it out since he has a piece of duct tape covering his mouth. And thanks to the pillowcase I put over his face, he can’t see anything either.
When I pull up to the port, the guard presses the button to let me in, and I drive straight toward the warehouse, making sure to pull in all the way so any cameras that the Antonovs don’t have access to won’t catch me yanking the good doctor out of my SUV.
“What do we have here?” Matteo asks when I drop the asshole onto the ground.
“You’ll see.”
I pull Simon onto his feet and cut the zip ties with the knife I brought with me.
“Bring him in here,” Matteo says. “Are you killing him or—”
“No, Brielle won’t let me kill him. I’m just going to make him wish he were dead.”
At the mention of his sister, Matteo’s eyes turn into thin slits.
I shove the guy into the metal chair in the middle of the room that Matteo must’ve placed there.
I pull a few more zip ties out of my pocket and bind his ankles to the legs of the chair. Then I pull the pillowcase over his face and rip the tape off his mouth.
“Please!” the piece of shit immediately starts pleading. “I didn’t want to do it. But I was in debt from medical school and—”
I punch him square in his jaw, and his head flies to the side.
“Do you hear yourself?” I hiss. “You were in debt from medical school. Where you had taken an oath to heal people.”
“What did he do to my sister?” Matteo asks lowly.
“You wanna tell him, or should I?” I ask Simon.
“You don’t understand,” he cries. “Andrey threatened my family.”
I punch him again, this time in the nose, and crimson runs out of his nostrils and into his mouth.
“This is the asshole who performed the abortion on Brielle.”
Matteo growls and then cuts across the room, punching the doctor with so much force that he flies backward in the chair. The back of his head hits the concrete so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if it caused permanent brain damage.
“We ran into him when we went to see Dr. Drescher.”
“Are you telling me that fucker was working there when Peyton and Dani were pregnant?” Matteo seethes. “He’s dead.” He lifts the doctor and sets the chair right. “You’re dead.”
“No, he’s not,” I remind him. “Brielle doesn’t want blood on her hands. All she wants is for him to never practice medicine again.”
I smirk, and Matteo quirks a brow.
“Can’t perform forced abortions without hands.” I shrug.
Matteo chuckles darkly, and the asshole cries.
“You know,” Matteo says, patting me on the shoulder, “I wasn’t a fan of yours. But you’re actually starting to grow on me.”
He grabs a blowtorch and turns it on.
The doctor screams, “Please, no!”
I grab the torch from Matteo and walk over to the doctor. “Let me ask you this …” I lift his bound hands and extend his pointer finger. “When you forced my wife to have an abortion and she begged you not to do it, did you listen to her?”
He whimpers.
“Exactly.”
I lift his finger to the fire, letting it slowly burn the flesh. He screams in agony, and I hope he feels an ounce of the pain and devastation and lack of control that Brielle felt when he sold his soul to Andrey over a threat and money.
The scent of burning flesh wafts through the air, and eventually, when the flesh is gone, the bone starts to burn.
At some point, the doctor pisses himself, and I have to force myself not to gag at the mix of piss and flesh.
I keep going, and he whimpers and then briefly passes out.
Good.
But the torch is too hot, making it hard to hold on to his hand, so I turn it off and walk over to the toolbox, grabbing a Sawzall.
“Bring him over here.”
Matteo cuts his zip ties off and drags him over to the workbench, forcing his hand onto the block of wood.
“I’ll do anything,” the doctor cries.
“Too late,” I tell him. “My wife is more compassionate than I am, and I promised I’d keep you alive, but you will never practice medicine again.” I switch the Sawzall on and start to cut off his fingers, one by one. “And if I find out that you told a single person about what happened today, I will end your life. Understand?”
Before he can answer, he passes out from the pain being too much.