Karen Rose - Die for Me

His eyes went dark. “I’ve given you some latitude because you amused me. But that time is done. If you are attempting to unnerve me, it won’t work. When I get angry, I become more focused.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her off the table to the floor.

Sophie winced as her hip hit hard concrete. “Yeah, like you did with Greg Sanders.” He’d cut off that man’s hand… and his foot . Because he’d stolen from a church. But it hadn’t been what she’d said. That wasn’t right. He’d made a mistake. He didn’t become more focused with rage. He made mistakes. She’d have to use it.

He dragged her across the floor and she struggled out of his grasp. Then saw stars when he smashed her head against the floor, using her thick braided crown as a handhold. “Don’t try that again.”

She rolled to her back and blinked up at him, breathing hard. He was huge, especially from this angle. He stood, fists on his hips, his face like stone. But he was breathing hard, too, his nostrils flaring.

“You fucked up with Greg, you know,” she panted. “The amputated foot didn’t go with the Church. Only the hand. You got so angry that he tried to steal from you that you messed up the details.”

“I messed up nothing. ” He reached under her neck, grabbed a handful of the gown, and twisted until the velvet cut at her throat, cutting off her air. More stars danced in front of her eyes and she bucked, trying to get away. Abruptly he released her, and she dragged air into her lungs.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, coughing. “You can kill me, but I’m not giving you anything for your precious game.”

Simon grabbed the bodice of the gown in both hands and effortlessly lifted her to her feet, then higher, until she was eye to eye with him. “You will give me what I want. If I have to nail you in place you will not fight me. Do you understand me?”

Sophie spat in his face and had the pleasure of seeing his face contort with rage. He drew back one fist, still holding her with one hand and she lifted her chin, ready for the blow. But it never came.

“I won’t mark your face. I need it… pretty.” He wiped at his cheek with his sleeve and lowered her to her feet.

“What’s the matter?” she taunted deliberately. “Can’t you see past a few bruises when you immortalize me in your stupid game? Or can you not function without an exact model? It must be frustrating, only being able to copy. Never creating anything on your own.” She swallowed hard and lifted her chin again. “Simon.”

His jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed and once again he jerked her off her feet. “What do you know?”

“Everything,” she sneered. “I know everything. And so do the police. So go ahead and kill me, but you really won’t get away with it. You’ll get caught and you’ll go to prison where you can paint clowns all day long and not need to hide them under your bed.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Where are they?”

Sophie smiled at him. “Who?”

He shook her, so hard her teeth rattled. “Daniel and Susannah. Where are they?”

“They’re here, looking for you. Just like Vito Ciccotelli is looking for you. He won’t rest until he finds you.” She narrowed her gaze. “Did you think no one would know, Simon? That no one could find you? Did you really think that no one would hear?”

“No one has found me,” he said. He lifted her higher and she winced which made him smile. “No one did hear me,” he said. “And no one will hear you.”

Fury gave her courage. “You’re wrong. All the people you killed screamed long after you buried them. You just weren’t listening. But Vito Ciccotelli was and he always will.”

He forced her to her knees. “Then I’ll kill him, too. But first I’ll kill you.”

Sunday, January 21, 7:45

A.M.

Selma Crane had lived in a tidy Victorian house before Simon had buried her next to Claire Reynolds in the Winchester field. Vito crept up to the attached garage, weapon in his hand, and looked in the window. Inside was a white van. He nodded to Nick and Liz who stood behind a cruiser at the end of the driveway.

Behind Nick and Liz stood the SWAT team, ready to storm the house on Vito’s signal. Vito joined them. “It’s a white van. I don’t see any sign of movement inside.”

The leader of the SWAT team stepped forward. “Do we go in?”

“I’d rather surprise him,” Vito said. “Hold for now.”

A car approached, Jen McFain behind the wheel. Daniel Vartanian was in the front seat, his sister in the back. They approached in silence, leaving their car doors open.

“Is he in there?” Daniel asked quietly.

“I think so,” Vito said. “There’s a back door that leads into the kitchen. All of the windows on the back side of the house are boarded up and covered in black tarp.”

“Then this is his place,” Susannah murmured. “Simon wanted to control his lighting so he blacked out the windows of his room and installed lights he could dim.”

“McFain filled us in,” Daniel said. “She told us he has your consultant. Let me go in.”

“No.” Vito shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you go in there half-cocked because you feel guilty that you didn’t turn him in ten years ago.”

Daniel’s jaw twitched. “What I was going to say,” he said carefully, “is that I’m SWAT trained and a trained negotiator. I know what to do.”

Vito hesitated. “You’re still his brother.”

Daniel didn’t look away. “Now you’re just being mean. I’m offering my help. Take it.”

Vito looked at Liz. “When will our negotiator get here?”

“Another hour,” Liz told him. “At best.”

Vito checked his watch, even though he knew exactly what time it was and exactly how much time had passed. Sophie was in there, he could feel it. He didn’t want to think about what Simon could be doing to her right now. “We can’t wait another hour, Liz.”

“Daniel is a negotiator. His CO told me so when I checked up on him the other night. Do you want me to take over and make the call?”

It was tempting. But Vito shook his head and looked Daniel Vartanian square in the eye. “You follow my orders in there. No questions, no hesitation.”

Daniel lifted his brows. “Think of me as a consultant.”

Vito was shocked he could still smile. “Suit up. You and I go in the front, Jen, you and Nick go in the back. SWAT stays at ready.”

“I send them in at the first shot,” Liz said and Vito nodded.

“Be prepared for anything. Let’s go.”

Sunday, January 21, 7:50

A.M.

Sophie was kneeling, Simon’s fingers tunneled under her braid. Fiercely he gripped her head, yanking her upright as she struggled. “Scream, damn you,” he gritted, twisting, making her scalp burn but Sophie bit her tongue.

She wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t give him what he wanted. She wrenched to one side, awkward with her wrists and ankles tied, still kneeling. Simon’s foot crashed down on her calf, holding her legs in place. He jerked her up again by her hair and fumbled behind him. She heard the singing of the sword as he pulled it from its sheath, then the sheath fell on the floor in front of her. His left hand was yanking at her hair, pulling up so that he had free access to the back of her neck while still pointing her face at his cameras. He raised his right arm and Sophie bit her tongue again.

Do not scream. Whatever you do. Do not scream.

“Scream, damn you.” He was furious, shaking.

“Go to hell, Vartanian,” she spat. His foot crashed down on her calf again, sending pain radiating up her spine. She bit down on her tongue even harder and tasted blood. She strained to try to spit it at him, but he dug his fingers in deeper. Her head throbbed from the pressure on her scalp as he held her head in the palm of his huge hand.