Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
I watched as sweat beaded on Blackheart’s forehead. Knuckles was hitting home, landing blows with surgical precision. This was a different kind of destruction, and Knuckles was a master at it.
“The parents of those children never got justice,” Knuckles said, his voice dropping lower. “Because officially, their kids died from surgical complications. But we know better. Don’t we, Doctor?”
“You can’t prove any of this,” Blackheart said, his voice strained. “It’s all hearsay and rumors.”
“We don’t need to prove it in court.” Knuckles waved him off, chuckling. “This ain’t a fuckin’ trial. You see, there are people who’ve been looking for you for a long time. The same people who put the police on your trail to begin with. People who lost children to your ‘complications.’ People with resources and very long fuckin’ memories.”
“Who?” Blackheart demanded, his composed facade crumbling further. “Who are you working with?”
“The Miles family sends their regards,” Knuckles said softly.
The effect on Blackheart was immediate and dramatic. His legs seemed to give out, and he slid several inches down the wall before catching himself. “Miles? Seth Miles?” His voice had risen an octave.
“The very same,” Knuckles confirmed. “Turns out, one of those children you harvested from was his granddaughter’s best friend. He took it personally.”
“That’s impossible,” Blackheart whispered. “The Miles family wasn’t even on the East Coast when I was practicing.”
“You think a man like Seth Miles doesn’t have eyes and ears everywhere?” Knuckles laughed without humor. “He’s known about you from the beginning. Been watching you in prison. Waiting for you to get out so he could deal with you properly.”
The front door of the clubhouse opened with a soft click. I turned to see two men enter, both in tailored suits that did nothing to hide their bulky muscles and deadly intent. Neither man gave anything away in their expressions. One carried a small black case, the other a canvas bag. Neither spoke as they crossed the room to stand before Knuckles.
“Gentlemen,” Knuckles greeted them with a nod. “Your package is ready for delivery.”
The taller of the two men nodded back, then turned his cold gaze on Blackheart. “Dr. Tate Blackheart,” he said, his voice as devoid of emotion as his face. “Mr. Miles wants an audience with you.”
Blackheart tried to bolt, but Tiny and Griffin were on him in an instant, pinning him against the wall with brutal efficiency. The man with the black case set it down and removed a set of zip ties, which he used to bind Blackheart’s wrists behind his back despite his struggles.
“Please don’t fight,” the man said, his tone almost bored. “It only delays the inevitable and you won’t win.”
“You can’t do this,” Blackheart gasped, his eyes wild with panic. “I have rights. I’m a free man.”
The second man laughed, the sound chilling in its emptiness. “A free man? No, Doctor. You’re inventory.”
I watched with savage satisfaction as first confusion then understanding decorated Blackheart’s face. The fear in his eyes was raw now, undisguised as he shook his head in silent protest.
“Don’t worry,” the first man continued, checking that the zip ties were secure. “Your organs will be put to good use after you’re dead. Or before. Mr. Miles hasn’t decided yet.”
The second man stepped closer, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “Personally, I hope it’s before. We’ll save any short-term vital organs for last, of course. Your heart would be the main one. Everything else, you can live without for a few hours at least. So you can stay awake while we harvest them one at a fucking time.” He smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. “Poetic justice, wouldn’t you say?”
Blackheart began to struggle in earnest then, thrashing against his restraints and the hands holding him. “No! You can’t! Elvira! My daughter will look for me!”
The mention of Ellie’s name sent a fresh surge of rage through me. “Your daughter wants nothing to do with you,” I spat. “Trying to frame her for your theft is nothing more than the final nail in your coffin. She’d already buried you. This time, you’ll stay buried.”
“Please,” Blackheart begged, his eyes darting frantically around the room. “I can pay. Whatever Miles wants, I can get it. I have money. Offshore accounts.”
The first man produced a plastic bag from his pocket. “Mr. Miles doesn’t need or want your money,” he said simply, before forcing the bag over Blackheart’s head and securing it around his neck with duct tape while he thrashed and made muffled sounds of panic. The bag sucked in and out with his breaths. I knew the bag and zip ties were for effect. Miles had likely instructed his men to traumatize Blackheart as much as possible without actually killing him.
Together, they lifted Blackheart between them, his feet barely touching the ground as they dragged him toward the door. His muffled cries grew more frantic, but the plastic remained unbroken, clouding slightly with his panicked breaths.