Whatever the surprise was – she was pretty sure she wanted it, so she kept her mouth shut.
“Finally.” Smith killed the engine and turned to smile at her. “I’ve got some more gear in the trunk, and then we’ll head in. You ready?”
“May I ask a fucking question?”
“That was one, but go ahead.”
“Dick. Do I need to be prepared for a fire fight when we walk in the door?”
He laughed low, that cold smile shaping his lips again. “Not at all.”
“I am so confused right now, but fine. Let’s just go in.” Camille opened the door and he followed, popping the trunk to grab a bag that she was quite sure was full of various guns and knives. “What is… you know what? Nevermind. No questions. Let’s just fucking do this.”
“Thank you.” Smith inclined his head and then led the way to a side door. There was a padlock on it, but he produced a key and removed it. As soon as the door opened she could hear something, a male voice, and she had her gun out and the safety off in an instant. “Go on in.”
“You’re being fucking weird, Smith.”
He just shrugged and leaned his head towards the interior. With a huff she walked in ahead of him, keeping her head on a swivel so she wouldn’t miss anything while steadily moving closer to the muffled male voice. As soon as she stepped past the old, abandoned break room and offices, she saw the chair.
And the man tied to it.
And her heart stuttered.
Barry Kopinski.
Smith stopped just behind her, his voice low against her ear. “After that kerfuffle in September I didn’t want to bring you out again and him not be there. So, I checked this lead out myself, and…”
“What’s with the giant red bow?”
“Belated birthday present.” Smith smiled as he walked past her, and Barry returned to his muffled shouting. From what she could tell he was zip-tied to the chair, and the gag in his mouth was tied tight enough to give him a joker-esque forced grin. The bright red ribbon wrapped around him served no other purpose than Smith’s version of a joke – or a gift.
What-the-fuck-ever. He had actually found Barry.
“So, our friend finally came through?” Camille walked slowly in front of the man that had at one time haunted her dreams like a specter, but no longer. She’d cut that short the day Smith had made her face her demons, and then later kissed her. However, the comforting weight of the gun in her hand was still welcome.
“He did. For free, I’ll add. His last mistake embarrassed him quite a bit.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“Maybe.” Smith shrugged, and then dropped his bag next to Barry. “This is your show, C. How do you want to play this? Kill him now? Torture him for a bit? See if he knows where the other one is?”
Barry started shouting through the gag, a mess of vowel sounds that just made Camille feel intense disgust. No fear, no rage.
“Let’s see what he knows.”
Smith flicked a knife open and cut the gag. Barry immediately started shouting again, “You fucking whore! This was you? When I get out of this I’m going to -”
A hard punch to the jaw cut him off, and Smith was completely cold as he stared down at him. “Trust me, you’ll never touch her again.”
Spitting on the floor, Barry muttered curses and then lifted his head again. “And who the fuck are you anyway? The muscle? Bitch has you fucking pussy-whipped, doing her dirty work -”
Another punch and he was spitting blood this time, groaning.
“Do you know where Roger is?” She asked the question in a flat voice once he’d recovered a little, momentarily amazed that she was capable of it, but even when she took a step closer to him there was only the smallest surge of adrenaline. An inkling at the back of her mind that had once been an all-encompassing fear.
“Fuck you, bitch! I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know where that asshole was!”
“What’s his last name then?”
Barry laughed, his front teeth pink with the tinge of blood. “Like I said, why would I tell you shit? You killed Steve. I’d known him since we were kids you stupid slut!”
Well, that was new information.
“Oh, really?” She smiled slowly, pacing a few steps away from him before she turned back. “It’s strange that he never seemed to care that much about you.”
“Fuck you! He was like a brother to me! Found girls for the both of us, just like he found you. Made sure I was the first person he called whenever he got new pussy.” He sat up as much as he could with his arms zip-tied to the chair. “You remember that, you fucking cunt? When I showed up you were still crying -”
Smith grabbed Barry’s face in a vicious grip, covering his mouth. There was something dark in those jade eyes when he looked at her again.
Death. That’s what death looked like – but it wasn’t time for Barry’s life to end just yet.
Camille shook her head once, and even though it seemed to take effort, Smith released him and wiped his hand on his pants as he stepped back, leaving her in charge.
The asshole laughed, wiping his mouth on his shoulder. “That bother you, motherfucker? Knowing I had your bitch before you did? I had her when she was still sweet and -”
“Shut up, Barry.” She cut him off and faced him again, her hand gripping the gun a little too tight, but he had information and she wanted it – and that meant he was going to live for a few more minutes at least. “So, you and Steve were BFFs? Used to pass each other love notes in high school?”
“More like we used to pass each other pussy. The younger the better.” Barry’s smile turned her stomach, but she kept her expression flat.
Don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“That makes sense, you never could get a girl to look at you on your own, could you?” Camille made herself look him in the eyes, set just a little too wide apart on his broad face. He had a nose like a pug, all smashed in, and his gut hung over the front of his pants. “I mean, you’ve never been the kind of guy that women would look twice at. Or once, for that matter.”
“Fuck you! You think this show scares me? You wanna kill me, you fucking kill me, but I bet you don’t even know how to use that piece in your hand. I’m not going to grovel in front of some slut who used to beg me to let her breathe after I pulled my cock out of her throat. You can go to hell, Camille.” He laughed and turned to look at Smith who was so tense she was worried he’d shoot Barry before she learned what she wanted. “You know her name is Camille, right? I heard you calling her C. Is that what she told you her name was? Bitches are all liars, man, you gotta show’em who’s boss. Show them they’re only good for one thing.”
“If you think you’re going to shock me, you’re mistaken. You’re only breathing right now because she hasn’t pulled the trigger yet.” Smith’s voice was remarkably steady, and ice cold. It made her smile as Barry redirected his gaze towards her.
When he started to speak she raised her empty hand. “So, Steve threw you pussy out of pity, I get that. You needed it, but what did you bring to the table? I mean, Steve seemed to have all his own friends – or…” She laughed quietly. “Did he make you pay like the rest of them?”
Smith’s jaw twitched when she revealed that piece of information, but it wasn’t his reaction she was concerned with. It was Barry’s, and as red-faced as he was, she was pretty sure she was right.
“I gave him money to help him out, because we were friends, it had -”
“So, not only could you not get a girl on your own, you had to pay for it. Oh yeah, you guys seemed like you were great friends before I slit his throat.”
“He didn’t even get the fucking girls, bitch! Carrie did! That was their whole thing. She used to work for the foster shit, she knew all the homes. Whenever Steve wanted a girl she’d start driving around until she found one that was his type, fucking Steve never got the girls himself!” Barry was fuming, but his words brought back the day she’d climbed i
nto Mama Carrie’s car. The woman had a folder on the seat beside her, she’d waved her down and said she’d been brought to the wrong home. Two weeks in the system, three homes already, Camille hadn’t even thought twice. She was still spinning over the death of her mom – the hospital, the police station, the caseworker, and then foster care. One house, a new house, another new house.
Old news. In the past. You survived.
Dig deeper.
“So, what? Joe and Clinton and Roger were just… back-ups? In case you assholes couldn’t get it up and wanted to watch?”
“Clinton went to school with us, bitch, and you don’t even want to mess with Joe. Remember how bad he used to fuck you up? That crazy fucker used to be a cop, had Steve as a CI for the drug shit, you go after him and he’ll -”
“Joe is dead, Barry. He was the first one of you I killed after I left Steve and Carrie in pools of their own blood.” Camille couldn’t suppress the smile as Barry sputtered, his eyes widening, flicking to the gun in her hand like he finally believed she’d use it.
“No fucking way.”
“Oh trust me, he’s dead.” She hadn’t technically killed him, but she’d caused his death anyway and Smith wasn’t going to correct her. “Clinton is too, and he died sobbing, Barry. Seems like you two lost touch though, because even with two bullet holes in him, he kept saying he didn’t know where you were.”
“You’re fucking psycho.”
Camille shrugged. “Where’s Roger?”
“I don’t fucking know! He was Steve and Carrie’s dealer, that’s all I fucking know! Used to trade pussy for drugs, but I never touched the shit. I wasn’t into that, you know that. I never got high with him and Clinton.”
“You seem nervous, Barry.” She smiled, but his expression hardened as he jerked at the zip-ties, testing the bonds. He almost looked comical wrapped in the bright red bow, and it made the memories easier to process.
Steve. Carrie. Joe. Clinton. Roger.
And Barry.
Too many fucking memories – but none of them mattered. It was almost over.
“Fuck you, cunt. I’m not telling you shit.”
“Really? You’ve been talking quite a bit,” Smith mumbled, and Barry looked over at him to glare.
“Fuck you too, dickless.” Barry growled, and then laughed. “Or, wait, is she spreading her legs for you too? You know, she used to fuck us for food. Absolutely begged for it. Not a big jump to her fucking you for this kidnap and assault shit.”
His gaze met hers, and she could read him better since he’d started to drop his guard around her. The tension at the edges of his eyes, the white-knuckled fist at his side – he really wanted to kill Barry.
Not yet, Smith.
“Look at me.” Camille made her voice hard, cold, and Barry’s head swiveled back towards her. “He knows everything, so you’re only irritating the both of us with your bullshit. Tell me Roger’s last name. Tell me where he is. Tell me everything you know about him, and I’ll kill you quickly. If you fucking irritate me any more tonight, I’ll drag it out until you’re begging me to put a bullet in your head.”
“I’ll never beg you, you fucking stupid little bitch.” Barry tried to spit blood on her, but it ended up landing in a string on his chin and shirt.
“Idiot. Why don’t you think over her extremely generous offer for a minute while we talk. C?” Smith tilted his head back towards the entrance and she gave Barry one more look before she followed him. As soon as they were out of earshot, Smith whispered low. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Some of that was new information, most of it wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter what he says. How are you?” Even as she asked it, she knew the answer. He was furious, almost shaking with the well-controlled rage he was keeping at bay. More than anything she knew what that felt like, that desperate need to do something to calm the storm inside.
“I’m… I want him to suffer.”
She watched him for a moment, looking over at the angry shape of Barry hunched in the chair. There was no way that asshole would voluntarily tell them anything, and that only meant one thing. “Alright, if he doesn’t tell me about Roger when we walk back over. You can torture him.”
“What?” Smith leaned back from her a bit, his eyes searching her face.
“I’ll ask him one more time, but if he refuses again – and I’m sure he will – torture him.”
“But this is your kill, C, I don’t -”
“I didn’t say you could kill him, Smith.” She shrugged. “I mean, do your best not to, but otherwise do whatever you want to try and get info on Roger out of him. The more we have to give Lacroix the faster we’ll find him.”
He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her farther down the hall until Barry was out of sight, and then he pulled her close, tracing her cheek with his thumb before he held her face. “Are you sure about this?”
“Do you want to hurt him?” Camille asked, her voice a little playful because he was broadcasting his need to do harm like a giant neon sign.
“You have no idea how much I want to, C. The things he’s said, the things he did… I want to make him suffer. I want to hear him beg for death, and then I want to hand whatever is left of him over to you so you can pull the trigger.” The cold rage inside Smith made her smile, because when he said those things they weren’t just words or empty threats – they were promises, and he was absolutely capable of fulfilling them.
“I just want to watch.” She grinned when his eyes flashed. “For educational purposes, of course. Who knows when I’ll need to torture information out of someone?”
Smith smiled slowly and stepped close to her, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. “Well, then I’ll have to make sure I use proper technique, won’t I?” The kiss was hard and soft in the same breath, a heated need that was dimmed by the situation, but it still sent a thrill through her. He pulled back from her with a nip to her bottom lip, and she traced the spot with her tongue.
How can one man be so perfect?
Not the time, C. Not the time.
“Then, let’s see what Barry says.” She smiled and turned away, sensing Smith’s presence just behind her. When Camille walked back to the asshole he started up again with empty threats, vulgar descriptions of things he’d done in the past, things he wanted to do to her, but she ignored them all and asked the same questions again.
Name. Location. Details.
“Fuck you, bitch.”
“Sure that’s your final answer?” She toyed with her gun, flipping the safety on and off, and his eyes followed her hands.
“If you’re going to kill me, just fucking kill me.”
Camille smiled slowly and looked up at him. “Oh, that wasn’t the deal, Barry. The deal was if you told me what you fucking know about Roger, then I’d kill you quick. In this case, I’m going to make very, very sure you don’t know anything before you die.”
“And I’m going to help her.” Smith planted his hand on Barry’s face and shoved him backwards, chair and all, and the scream he released as the metal of the chair landed across his arms meant that he might have broken something.
“You fucking cunt, I’m going to -”
A hard kick to the face cut him off, turning his curses into groans of pain. Without a glance Smith walked over to his bag and unzipped it. The first thing that came out was a flask, and he tossed it to her. “I originally brought that to celebrate, but go ahead and get started. I’m going to have my own fun.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and unscrewed the cap, a strong waft of whiskey escaping the little container that made her sigh. “Couldn’t have brought me vodka?”
“In that flask? Never.” Smith shook his head before he pulled a cloth roll out of the duffel and carried it back to the overturned chair. As he knelt down next to a cursing, groaning Barry, he unrolled it slowly.
So. Many. Pretty. Shiny. Knives.
“What the fuck, man? What the FUCK! What are you going to do?” Barry sounded panick
ed, finally, and Camille took a drink of the bourbon, letting it carry that slow, delicious burn all the way into her belly.
“You heard her. We’re going to torture you. Tell us about Roger, and then we might stop.” Smith sliced through the ribbon in a few places and pulled it away. Then he started to cut away his shirt in smooth movements of a knife that had to be razor sharp, because the cloth was falling away like it was made of tissue paper. “Tell me, Barry, have you ever skinned an animal?”
Camille sat down on the floor a little behind Smith so she could see what he was doing, crossing her ankles out in front of her with her gun in her lap. One arm behind her to prop her up, the other tilting up the bourbon again. When Barry looked over at her, the whites of his eyes visible all the way around, she just smiled.
It didn’t take long for Barry to start screaming, the first cut of Smith’s knife drew that out, but he kept cursing them for a while. Shouting at her, and Smith, as he described things he used to do to her, things he watched the others do – but whatever his plan was, it wasn’t working in his favor. It was only making Smith draw things out, make it hurt more.
Idiot.
There was an art to what Smith did with those incredibly sharp blades, but the one he kept in his hand the most was a small, curved axe looking thing – and judging by how loud Barry was screaming the methods worked. Smith didn’t speak much, except to ask the same questions she had.
Name?
Barry screamed over and over that he didn’t know Roger’s full name, that he’d never heard it. Ever. Steve was always high, just called him ‘his dealer’ or Roger. Eventually, she believed him and she nodded to Smith. Strike one.
Location?
A lot of cursing. Barry cursed her, Smith, Steve, God – it was endless, and even after a lot of encouragement he insisted he had no fucking idea where Roger was. Why would he? He’d never been into the drugs. Why would he need or want a dealer? No luck there. Strike two.
Details?
At first, he’d insisted he didn’t know anything, but pain can do funny things to trigger memory, and as Smith continued to work Barry started babbling.
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 20