As if sensing my thoughts, the teenager begins to blubber. “Please don’t do this, man,” he begs, sobbing. “I didn’t do nothing! I swear, I didn’t do nothing—”

“Shut up.” I stare at him, letting the anticipation build. “Do you know why you’re here?”

He shakes his head. “No! No, I swear,” he babbles. “I don’t know nothing. I was in this club, and there was this girl, and I don’t know what happened ’cause I just woke up in this warehouse, and I didn’t do nothing—”

“You didn’t touch the girl in the yellow dress?” I cock my head to the side, twirling the knife between my fingers. I know exactly how cats feel when they play with mice; this kind of thing is fun.

The young man’s eyes widen. “What? No! Fuck, no! I swear, I didn’t have nothing to do with that! I told Sean it was a bad idea—”

“So you knew they were going to do it?”

Instantly realizing what he’s admitted to, the boy starts babbling again, tears and snot running down his battered face. “No! I mean, they don’t ever tell me nothing until they do it, so I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know until we were there, and they said to watch the door, and I told them it’s not fair, and they said I should just do it, and then this other girl came, and I told her to go away—”

“Shut up.” I press the sharp edge of the knife against his mouth. He falls silent instantly, his eyes white with fear. “All right,” I say softly, “now listen to me carefully. You’re going to tell me where your cousin Sean eats, sleeps, shits, fucks, and whatever else he does. I want a list of every place he might ever visit. Got it?”

He gives a tiny nod, and I move the knife away. Immediately, the boy starts spewing out names of restaurants, clubs, underground fighting gyms, hotels, and bars. I use my phone to record all that, and when he’s done, I smile at him. “Good job.”

His cracked lips quiver in a weak attempt at an answering smile. “So now you’re going to let me go, right? ’Cause I swear I didn’t have nothing to do with that.”

“Let you go?” I look down at the knife in my hand, as if considering his words. Then I look up and smile again. “Why? Because you betrayed your cousin?”

“But . . . but I told you everything!” His eyes are showing white again. “I don’t know nothing else!”

“Yes, I know.” I press the knife against his stomach. “And that means you’re useless to me now.”

“I’m not!” he begins yelling. “You can ransom me! I’m Jimmy Sullivan, Patrick Sullivan’s nephew, and he’ll pay to have me back! He will, I swear—”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” I let the knife’s tip dig in, enjoying the sight of blood welling up around the blade. Tearing my eyes away from it, I meet the young man’s petrified gaze. “It’s too bad for you that his money is the last thing I need.”

And as he lets out a terrified scream, I slice him open, watching the blood spill out in a dark, beautiful river of red.

* * *

After I wipe my hands on the towel someone thoughtfully left in the van, I open the door and jump out. Lucas is waiting for me, so I tell him to dispose of the body and head back into the house.

It’s strange, but I don’t feel much better. The kill should’ve relieved some of the pressure, eased the burning need for violence, but instead, it seems to have only added to it, the emptiness inside me growing and darkening with every moment.

I want Nora. I need her more than ever. But when I enter the house, the first thing I do is head into the shower. I’m covered in blood and gore, and I don’t want her to see me like this.

Like the savage murderer her parents accused me of being.

When I emerge, the first thing I do is check the tracking app for Nora’s location. To my intense disappointment, she’s still in Rosa’s room. I contemplate going there to retrieve her, but I decide to give her a few more minutes and catch up on some work in the meantime.

When I open my laptop, I see that my inbox is filled with the usual messages. Russians, Ukrainians, the Islamic State, supplier contract changes, a security leak at one of the Indonesian factories . . . I scan it all with disinterest until I come upon an email from Frank, my CIA contact.

Opening it, I read it swiftly—and my insides grow cold.

Chapter 31

Nora

“Hey there.” Balancing a tray with tea and sandwiches in my hands, I push open the door to Rosa’s bedroom and approach her bed.

She’s lying on her side, facing away from the door, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Setting the tray down on the nightstand, I sit down on the edge of her bed and gently touch her shoulder. “Rosa? Are you okay?”

She rolls over to face me, and I almost flinch at the bruising on her face.

“Pretty bad, huh?” she asks, noticing my reaction. Her voice sounds a little scratchy, but she looks remarkably calm, her eyes dry in her swollen face.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s good,” I say carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Possibly better than you,” she says quietly, looking at me. “I’m so sorry about the baby, Nora. I can’t even imagine what you and Julian must be going through.”

I nod, trying to ignore the stab of agony in my chest. “Thank you.” I force a smile to my lips. “Now, are you hungry? I brought you something to eat.”