Killer Moon (Psychic For Hire 2)

I press a knife to his left cheek and a hammer to his right cheek. They are his. They had both been in his kitchen drawer.

“Choose,” I say. I press the blade just enough to bring up blood. I tap the hammer lightly so that he knows what it is.

He squirms in panic. “Don’t to it,” he begs, like the fool that he is.

It is almost funny. Now that the crap he has put out into the world is about to come back to him, he’s on the verge of shitting his pants. He really should not have pissed me off.

Too bad for him that I’m in the mood to play, and he’s the one I’ve decided to play with.

“You not gonna choose, big man baby, hmm?” I say playfully. “You want me to choose for you?”

Oh how much fun it would be to go big. To bleed him until he fills a bath. But big isn’t going to get me what I want. I have to start small. I force his hands to his side, which isn’t easy given that they are tied together. I position them against the floor and then I smash the tip of his little finger with the hammer.

He screeches like a wounded walrus. The tape mostly muffles the sound.

“Shut up,” I say, and slap his cheek lightly.

He whimpers and bawls like a baby, but he soon stops, too scared to keep crying when I press the knife and the hammer into his face again.

“Do we understand each other?” I ask.

He nods in agreement.

“Tell me about Rachel,” I say to him.

He shakes his head vehemently. He mumbles through the tape. Clearly he is saying that he has nothing to do with her. The liar. I roll my eyes. This time I smash the hammer into his nose.

He screeches longer and louder. Blood bubbles out of his nostril and pops, splattering in a rather pretty way. Since he is unable to breathe through his taped up mouth, this makes things difficult for him. I get off him and him roll over onto his side. I don’t want him to suffocate before I’m done.

“Shut up,” I tell him.

This time it is harder for him to obey given his sheer panic. He does eventually stop. As he snuffles and whimpers and moans, I roll him over and sit back down on his chest. The man is clearly having trouble breathing. Good for me.

I tweak his nose and he squeals.

“I’m going to take the gag off now,” I tell him. “So that you can speak. But if you scream again, I’ll put it back on, and if you can’t breathe the next time I hit you, that’ll be your problem. Do we understand each other?”

He nods his head vigorously. I am glad to see he knows me by now. He knows I mean business.

I rip the tape off his mouth. To his credit he doesn’t immediately scream. He pants for breath. I imagine a stream of blood is running from his nasal passage and down the back of his throat. It makes him choke and gasp as he answers my questions. Flecks of blood fly out of his mouth. By the time he has told me everything that I want to know his face looks like a Jackson Pollock.

“You disgusting little creep,” I tell him. “Now tell me you’re sorry for being such bad boy.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he babbles. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. I swear.”

I get to my feet, and he gives a whimper of relief.

“I agree. You won’t. It’s time for your nap now.”

I jab my stun gun under his jaw.

Chapter 18

STORM

Monroe knocks on the door of Storm’s office, and when Storm waves him in, he pokes his head in.

“Boss, I’ve tracked down the details for India and Rachel’s landlord.”