Page 56 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Man,” I sigh, rolling my own shoulders with satisfaction. “You’re so tense, my friend. When’s the last time you had a massage?”

The guy answers with a wail.

Despite being the worst piss-baby I’ve ever interrogated—and yes, I mean that literally—somehow, he still hasn’t cracked. Talk about miracles, huh?

Maybe he’s one of my people after all.

“This can all be over in minutes, you know. It’s up to you.”

I can see he’s tempted. The light in a man’s eyes when he’s struck with sudden hope—nothing shines as bright as that. But then his face shutters with dread. “I c-can’t.”

“Really?” I drawl, letting my glove snap against my wrist. “I don’t get it. What’s this guy gonna do to you that I won’t?”

I already know the answer to that, of course. If his colleague’s intel is genuine, thismudak’s got plenty to be scared of. It’s still fucking annoying, though.

I far prefer it when they’re scared ofme.

“My…” the piss-baby splutters, whining between words. “My f-family. He’ll kill them all.”

As expected.I’m the most cold-blooded motherfucker on earth, but even I wouldn’t stoop to going after innocents. That’s the difference between me andhim—I draw the line at family.

Not that he even knows the meaning of the word.

However, this guy doesn’t need to know that. It doesn’t matter what I would or wouldn’t do: all that matters is what hebelieves.And I’ve always been good at playing the monster.

“What makes you think I won’t?”

My hostage’s eyes go wide. “No.”

“Yes.” I walk slowly around the chair. Each step echoes in the cold, damp air of the warehouse. “And you know what? I won’t just put a bullet in their heads. I’ll make ithurt.”

“You w-wouldn’t!”

“Why don’t we ask Lefty?”

Snap. Crackle.Popgoes another shoulder.

It’s so satisfying—the crunch of bone and resolve. I haven’t been here even half an hour, and already, my mood has improved. I can feel my stress melt with every moan of pain.

But every game must be ended at its highest point. So I peel off my gloves, put away my toolbox, and make my way out the door.

“Wait!” the man calls, terrified. “Wait, you can’t?—”

Clang.

“Actually,” I call through the shut metal door, “I can.”

I go outside. The crisp morning air hits my face, coaxing me back into the world. On the sunny side of it, where the shadows stick close to the things that cast them.

Myworld is different. In my world, shadows stretch on forever.

With Yuri still indoors tending to our other houseguest, I’m bored. My hands itch for a cigarette. I quit smoking years ago, but it’s a tough habit to break. Especially at times like these.

I fish something else out of my jacket instead. An old, battered pocket watch stares back at me from my palm, its hands long dead. They’ve been still for decades, a crack in the glass snaking from one side to the other.

I don’t know why I keep carrying this. It’s a waste of space, really.

You do know, a part of me whispers, the same part that’s always hungry. For cracked bone, spilled blood, anything.It keeps the fire alive.