"Excellent. Because now we're all going to go for a little walk in the woods." I looked at Warren. "Where's this other trail you were talking about?"
He pointed to the west.
"Lead the way, then."
Warren nodded and stepped off the main trail and into the woods. Owen stopped long enough to pull a gun out of his backpack, then followed him. I slapped a piece of duct tape over my prisoner's mouth, so he wouldn't scream for his buddies and give away our position. Then I gestured toward the trees.
"Move."
The guy hesitated.
"Walk or die - your choice."
Maybe it was the threat of violence, or maybe it was the absolute chill in my eyes, but the guy swallowed, shuffled forward, and slowly fell into step behind Owen.
I kept my knife out and ready to strike in case he got any stupid ideas, then headed into the forest after the others.
We left the main trail behind and walked due west for about twenty minutes. The landscape grew more rugged the farther we hiked, as the thick stands of trees and rich soil gave way to more high, open balds made out of layered sheets of limestone and other rock. I reached out with my magic, listening to the stones, but they only sleepily murmured of the blazing sun that was slowly baking them and the afternoon thunderstorms that whistled over the mountains, bringing a bit of cooling rain with them before quickly giving way to the hot, brutal sun once more.
I'd always enjoyed hiking with Fletcher in the mountains. It was a special treat, being surrounded by so much of my own element, these steep ridges, flat plateaus, and rocky landscapes that I felt such kinship with. I would have enjoyed this outing too, if not for the horrible circumstances that had brought me here.
Warren slowed, then finally stopped. He gestured to the top of the rock-strewn ridge that we'd been climbing up."Grimes's camp is about another hour beyond that crest," he said. "But we'll start running into the traps he has set up around the perimeter soon. Maybe even more guards. So I figured that you might want to stop and do whatever it is that you're going to do with that fella before we go any farther."
I looked at Warren, and he stared right back at me, his expression carefully devoid of emotion. He knew exactly what I was planning to do, and so did Owen, who also had a blank look on his face. The only one who wasn't clued in was Grimes's man. His head kept swiveling back and forth between us.
"Thank you for letting me know. You guys might want to take a walk for a few minutes."
Warren snorted and flapped his hand at me. "Bah, I've seen more blood and violence in my lifetime than you have, Gin. So don't try to coddle me."
"I'm staying too," Owen said in a quiet voice.
I stared at them both again, but their shoulders were set, their mouths fixed in flat, determined lines. They knew what I was going to do now, what I had to do in order to have the best possible chance of saving Sophia.
"All right," I said. "But don't say that I didn't warn you."
I turned to my prisoner and ripped the duct tape off his mouth. The guy hissed with pain, but that was the only sound he made. He'd learned that much, at least.
"It's finally time for you to be useful," I drawled. "Tell me about Grimes's camp and what he did with the woman he kidnapped this morning, the one with the black hair and clothes."
The guy shook his head. "I'm not telling you a thing, not one damn thing."
"Sure you are," I replied in an easy voice. "Everyone talks eventually. Even me. The only question is how much it has to hurt first. And believe me when I tell you that I'm very, very good at inflicting massive amounts of pain on people in a very, very short amount of time."
He gave me a surly look. "You think I'm scared of you? Please. You couldn't possibly be the Spider. That ruthless bitch would have killed me the second she saw me. Not dragged me halfway up the mountain instead."
"You're right," I replied. "So maybe I should get on with things. Wouldn't want to disappoint my fans."
I slid my backpack off and set it on the rocks. Then I started rolling my shoulders and swinging my arms from side to side, limbering up for what was to come. I even did a couple of squats, just for kicks. Yeah, it was a show more than anything else, but sometimes a little show was all you needed to get someone to see things your way.
But the guy kept quiet through my warm-up routine, so I decided to up the ante by palming a second knife and turning toward him.
He let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, look, she has another knife. What do you think you're going to do with that, honey? cut me up a steak for dinner?"
I kicked the guy's right knee out from under him, and he landed awkwardly on his ass on the rocks. Before he could yell with pain, I slammed my boot into his ribs, driving the air out of his lungs again.
And I didn't stop there.
Again and again, I kicked him in the ribs, chest, and stomach, until he got the message. He groaned and rocked from side to side, trying to find some position where his body wouldn't ache, but there wasn't one. I'd made sure of that.
When his moans finally died down, I straddled him and crossed my blades over his throat. "Now, sugar, I'll show you exactly what I intend to do with my knives - unless you start talking."
The guy glared at me, still defiant. "Go to hell. You won't get anything out of me. I'm more scared of what Mr. Grimes will do to me than some bitch with a couple of knives."
"Your mistake, sugar."
"Why is that?"
I leaned down so he could see exactly how cold and empty my eyes were. "Because Mr. Grimes isn't here right now - but I am."
Before he could protest, I slapped the piece of duct tape back over his mouth.
And then I started cutting him.
I used small, shallow cuts at first. A nick here, a thin slice there. Little more than paper cuts, really. But the longer I worked on him, the deeper I went, slowly sawing into his neck, his arms, and the thick muscles of his chest.
I didn't particularly enjoy torturing people. In fact, it went against everything that Fletcher had ever taught me about being an assassin. No kids, no pets, no torture.
But Sophia's life was at stake, and there was nothing that would keep me from rescuing her, not even Fletcher's
killer code of honor.
Owen and Warren stood a few feet away, watching the
whole thing. Every slice I made, every bit of blood that
spurted out of the guy's wounds, every muffled scream he
let out through the tape over his mouth as I dug my blades deeper and deeper into his tender flesh. They didn't say a word, and they didn't try to interfere. Even if they'd wanted to, Owen and Warren couldn't have stopped me. Not from doing whatever it took to save Sophia. Not even from this.