Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2)

by Victoria Renteria

  Turning to face the Colonel, he spits as he says, “I will tell you nothing.”

  Laughing, the Colonel replies, “Oh, I think we can change your mind.” Rising, he spins, facing in my direction as he says, “He’s all yours, son.”

  Nodding, I grab the picana and stroll to Chee, cherishing the uncertainty lurking beneath the surface. Placing the equipment down, I grab the wand, adjust the settings, and carefully step up to Chee.

  He meets my gaze as I ask, “Who is Cho Sang-Hyun working for?”

  He defiantly raises his chin. My pulse races, thrumming with excitement as I give a sharp nod in Noah’s direction. He lifts a bucket of water, dousing Chee from head to toe. He yelps as shock from the coldness registers.

  Stepping forward with the wand firmly grasped in my hand, I ask one final time. “This is your last warning. Who is Cho Sang-Hyun working for?”

  Still defiantly silent, he smiles smugly in return. Raising the wand in my hand, I place it directly to his left nipple then release the charge. A surge of current is released through his body as he grits his teeth, writhing in the chair. His fingers curl into the ends of the chair, turning white as he retracts and flexes them over and over again. Throwing his head back, he thrashes violently for several long moments. Removing the wand, my voice is low and menacing as I ask, “Who is Sang-Hyun working for?”

  His chest heaves as he sucks in an anguished breath. With a lift of his chin, he meets my eyes, disobedience clear in his gaze. Snarling, I lung forward, thrusting the wand into his abdomen. Ratcheting the current up a few notches, I watch as he thrashes violently, his head whipping back and forth as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. The pulsing in the wands stops as the flow of electrical current ceases.

  Leaning over slightly, I say, “I’m beginning to think you’re a masochist, Chee. You like the pain. You know Chaos has a unique set of skills. He’s very good at giving a bamboo manicure. I’m sure you can imagine what he does with them. In fact, he’s preparing them for you now.” Pausing to take a breath, I survey Chee for several moments. He takes several pained breaths, his eyes never giving away any emotion. My blood fizzles, anger surging through me filling my veins and feeding my need to get answers.

  “Who is Sang-Hyun working for?”

  Tilting his head back, a devious smile plays at the corner of Chee’s mouth. Looking as if he’s going to speak, I take a step closer. Opening his mouth, he spits blood in my face. A red haze fills my vision, clouding my senses. My nostrils flare wide as I bare my teeth and lunge forward. Cranking the dial up full force, I plunge the wand into his balls, releasing a severe amount of electrical current.

  Chee’s mouth falls open, screeching, pain etched in every line of his face, his body tenses, flailing in the chair. Time suspends as I watch him twitching uncontrollably until firm hands seize my bicep. Glancing over my shoulder, a brilliant pair of piercing blue eyes filled with emotion clash with mine. The room is silent as we communicate without so much as a word. Even the air seems to have stopped moving. In that short time span, his eyes have expressed his barely controlled rage, hurt, and his deepest fears. Despite it all, he’s able to keep his inner animal leashed.

  Me, on the other hand . . . now that’s a completely different story.

  He squeezes my bicep gently before saying, “Son, we aren’t going to get any answers if you electrocute him through his nut sack.”

  Cutting the charge on the wand, I snap my head around, watching as Chee slumps in the chair, panting for air. Fucker. With anger still surging through my system, I nod to Brighton, who moves forward, bringing the tools of his trade with him. Chee tenses. Shaking his head back and forth, his eyes glaze over as he mumbles incoherently. Lifting my hand toward Brighton, I say, “Wait.”

  Closing the distance, I grasp his chin so that we’re eye to eye. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time. After this, all bets are off. Who is Sang-Hyun working for?”

  Chee visibly swallows. “I-I don’t know.”

  Tightening my grip on his chin, I squeeze with brutal force. He grunts in return. “Not good enough.” The menacing baritone in my voice causes his eyes to widen. Thrusting away from him, I stiffly nod to Brighton, who resumes his task.

  Kneeling before Chee, he lays out several bamboo shoots with the ends filed to sharp points on the floor by his side before prying Chee’s hand from the armrest. Struggling, Chee fights, screaming, “I don’t know who he’s fucking working for!”

  “See, I think you’re holding out on me, Chee. I think you do know something,” I say, sounding bored.

  Brighton looks over his shoulder to me for confirmation. Nodding my acknowledgment, he precedes. Retrieving a bamboo shoot from the floor, he firmly grasps Chee’s index finger. Getting a second wind, he begins writhing and twisting in the chair.

  “Sandman, Blade, make sure he doesn’t move,” I order.

  With Sam and Cooper holding Chee securely, Brighton resumes his post. Gradually, he presses the shoot between Chee’s nail and the bed of his finger. Agonizing sounds cascade from Chee as Brighton leisurely thrusts the bamboo under his nail. With a final push, the shoot is firmly embedded into his index finger. By the time Brighton gets to Chee’s ring finger, he’s a panting mess. Blood drips from his fingers, pooling on the floor.

  The color steadily drains from his face, leaving him looking ashen and gray. Brighton presses the shoot to his ring finger and Chee half-pants, half-screams, “Wait! Wait!”

  Brighton glimpses at me over his shoulder. Raising my hand, he stops, pulling away for a moment. The Colonel and I both step forward, moving closer to Chee at the same time.

  “You better not be wasting my time, Chee. My patience is wearing thin. The next step is going to be me stringing you up from the ceiling and letting Blade loose on you.”

  Cooper excitedly exclaims from behind him. “Hell yeah, it’s about damn time!”

  “So, if I were you, I’d make sure to give me the information I want. You know who I’m looking for. Tell me where she is and how I can find her. I want to know who Sang-Hyun is working for. I know he’s behind this.”

  Chee’s pained expression meets mine. His voice is full of anguish as he replies, “I do not know who Sang-Hyun works for.” He pauses, taking a breath. Brighton strains, reaching forward.

  “Wait,” I direct. He freezes, pulling back, his body rigid.

  Chee audibly swallows. “This girl, I have heard rumors of her—”

  “Where is she!” I yell.

  The already colorless expression on his face drains further, leaving him looking pallid and sallow. “I do not know. It’s not information that was shared with me. Again, it was only a rumor,” he rushes to say.

  “What good are you, then? You’re giving me nothing I can use,” I growl, taking a menacing step forward.

  “I-I can tell you where Sang-Hyun will be in five days’ time. He has a meeting with several business associates. T-That and you have a leak within your organization. But I don’t know who it is. I only know he talks to them.”

  Bright light cracks the darkness within, a sliver of hope growing inside of me. The mere fact that we could potentially be one step closer to finding my Goddess is invigorating. My stomach drops, twisting and turning as if I’d just taken a nosedive in an F-15. His words sink in, perforating the fog that had taken up residence in my mind.

  A leak. We have a fucking leak? On our end?

  Lightning spreads like fire through my body, fueling my desire to find the son of a bitch who would betray our country and endanger my Goddess.

  Barely able to contain my rage, I inquire, “And just where might that be?”

  Without missing a beat, he responds, “Madame Lin’s.”

  Tension is rampant, a living breathing thing raging wildly as fury locks down my muscles. My jaw tightens almost painfully as I berate myself. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? She said something wasn’t right. She didn’t feel comfortable there. My gaze darts around to my team, a
nd I see the same emotion roiling around in my gut reflecting in their eyes. Displaying a calmness I don’t feel, I stand a little straighter and bark out, “Very well, gentlemen, you know what to do. Finish up here and meet me when you’re done.” Pivoting, I come face to face with the Colonel, who nods and begins following me out of the room.

  As we exit to start planning our strategy, I can’t help but feel that sliver of hope, the eagerness and anticipation coursing through me. Yet as the tiny seed of hope is planted, doubt grasps me, spreading like wildfire. Somewhere in the back of my mind, that tiny voice echoes, asking: What if we’re too late?

  THICK SCARLET LINES THE COLOR of rubies decorate my body. Her dark eyes watch me intently, taking into account my every breath as she circles, her blade’s tip, kissing my skin along the way. She completes her rotation, coming to stop in front of me.

  “Now, I’m going to tell you again, you’re going to renounce your American heritage, forget your father, and join me. Isn’t that right?” She narrows her eyes, focusing on my face.

  A sizable lump has taken up the space in my throat, leaving me unable to speak. Despite the leaden feeling in my head, I give it a little shake. Baring her teeth, she advances with the deadly grace and speed of a panther. Stalking silently with intent and purpose, my mother swiftly raises the blade to my face, dragging the tip slowly across my cheekbone. The cold metal ghosts along my skin, never breaking the barrier. Fire spreads through my lungs, riding the edges of my nerve endings as the walls of my chest threaten to implode.

  Thwack.

  Unshed tears sting the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over at the intense pain now radiating through my jaw. Blinking rapidly, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep them from making themselves known.

  “Breathe, Ttal.”

  Forcing myself to take a breath, my lungs scream a sigh of relief as I inhale, flooding them with much-needed oxygen. She plasters a condescending smile on her face. With the patience of a saint, she draws the blade down my neck, only pausing for a moment between the valley of my breasts to circle the tip of the blade around my nipples. My breath abandons me as she twists her wrist, digging the tip into my left nipple. Minuscule whimpers barely audible to my own ears can be heard as my blood once again begins to flow freely. A beatific smile emerges, transforming her face from the cold, dead mask she usually wears to that of an angel fallen from the heavens.

  “You and I have much in common,” she says, her eyes transfixed on the rivulets of vermillion.

  Swallowing hard, I slowly shake my head in disbelief. How can she believe I have anything in common with her? She’s spent most of my youth making it incredibly clear that I’ve been nothing but a failure in her eyes. An ache begins in my chest, spreading as the fissure in my heart intensifies and decimates any remaining strength I have left. Sagging, my head dips, my chin perched uncomfortably on my body. Tears burn my eyes, making the urge to rub the ache in my chest that much more unbearable.

  I almost laugh at the thought. It’s physically impossible for me to move, anyway. She’s really done a number on me. I’ve been stripped of all my clothing—well, what little I had—and bound by my wrists to a hook in the center of the room. She’s suspended me from the ceiling so she could have her fun. A pang of sadness washes over me. Memories of a child long ago encircle me. With the memories, darkness always comes, the long and lonely road I’ve traveled my entire life all because a little girl wanted the approval of her mother. Hardening your heart against the woman who brought you into the world is easier said than done.

  I’ve spent years hating her, dreaming of what I would say, how I would act. Yet . . . in her presence, I’m still that little girl quivering in the corner, clinging to Tango Bravo, desperately awaiting her mother’s approval. That fateful night comes rushing back to me.

  Hot searing pain as each lash rains down on my backside, blood filling my mouth, spilling down my throat with each strategic hit to my face. The indescribable pain of her boot grinding into my ribcage. Death. . . A prayer for death going unanswered.

  I spent years angry at God for denying that request. How can you put a child through that kind of pain? How can a mother who is supposed to love and protect her child do this? Why would a God who loves his children allow such a heinous act?

  Now, for the first time in my life, I’m thankful that prayer was denied. Mr. Violet Eyes’ ruggedly handsome face flashes briefly in my mind’s eye. He is my saving grace, my reason to live . . . the light that shines brightly in the darkness. Slowly, like the tide washing out to sea, the memories begin to recede. Lifting my chin defiantly, I meet my mother’s curious gaze.

  With a voice full of unshed tears, I say, “No, Mother, you’re wrong. We are nothing alike. I would never do the despicable things you have done to my child.”

  Remorse is there in her dark eyes for a moment before it passes, leaving me questioning my own sanity. Why in the hell would she feel remorse? Chuckling, she takes a step back, putting some distance between us. My gaze lowers to her hand. Her grip is so tight on the blade her knuckles have turned white.

  “You know nothing, ignorant child.”

  Striding forward, she places the blade against my right nipple. Flicking her wrist, she twists, piercing the tip. All of my breath gushes out of me as agonizing pain zips through my breast.

  “You only know what I’ve allowed you to see,” she says, removing the tip of the blade from my breast.

  Trailing the blade down the valley of my breasts toward my flat abdominal muscles, she pauses, tracing patterns into my skin. The light pattern starts off soft, making my body twitch in response. Her gaze lifts, meeting mine for several moments, a carnivorous glint flickers as she lowers her eyes and submerges the tip into my abdominal wall. My body tenses, little twinges of agony rocking me to my core.

  Sweat beads on my brow with the extreme effort it’s taken to hold in my screams. Biting my lip to keep from showing weakness, I feel the warm coppery tang I was so familiar with in my youth begin pooling in my mouth.

  “I was once young and naive like you.”

  “I find that debatable,” I retort.

  Glaring in my direction, she levels me with her gaze. Her blade resumes its delicate dance across my midsection.

  “What beautiful skin you have,” she breathes out, her fingertips dancing along the edges of my collarbone. An unsettling feeling ripples through me as her eyes follow the path of her fingers.

  “It really is a pity that you’re making me do this,” she whispers.

  My heart skitters, thumping out an erratic pattern as my breath quickens, drowning out all other sounds. Acting on impulse, my body shies away, her words arousing the feeling of danger, no doubt trying to stave off the countdown to my demise. Instantaneously, she wraps her delicate fingers around my neck, holding me in place.

  Tsking, she asks, “And just where do you think you’re going? Hmmm?”

  Her fingers press into my flesh mercilessly, cutting off my retreat. My fingers dig into the rope suspending me to the ceiling. Every muscle in my body screams from the exertion of being stretched and bound. Shaking uncontrollably, my chest burns as she continues to squeeze, constricting my airway. If only there were some way to escape. Some way out of this hell I’ve found myself in.

  Still keeping her gaze firmly fixed on mine, she relaxes her grip. Gasping, I take huge breaths, filling my deprived lungs, unsure if this will be my last breath. Her wild eyes stare deeply into mine as she withdraws from me marginally. Dropping her gaze, she eyes my abdomen for a moment. I have but a second to take a breath before I feel the bite of the cold steel cutting through the flesh and tissue.

  Wailing as loudly as possible, an agonizing scream is torn from my throat. Muscles in my body I didn’t even realize I had tighten and spasm at the fiery intrusion. My body jerks, shaking uncontrollably from shock as I sway, suspended in the center of the room. Every shift, each movement sends another ripple of fiery pain rocketing through my nervous syst
em. A deceptive smile spreads across her face as she slowly begins to remove the blade. Ceasing midway, she looks to me, taking in the color rapidly draining from my face, the breaths sawing in and out of my lungs, eyes dull and glazing over in pain.

  With a tilt of her lips, she says, “See, I knew you were like me. No matter what kind of torture your body is put through, you can handle it.” A hint of pride laces her voice.

  Pride? Mentally, I berate myself. I’m starting to think I’m hallucinating. There is no way in hell this woman holds anything other than contempt and hate for me. With swift movements, she yanks the blade from my abdomen. Waves of nausea pounce, attacking me with the force of an atomic bomb.

  My stomach lurches, plunging as bile begins to rise in my throat. Unable to bite back the vile acid, I turn my head to the side, spewing the contents onto the floor. Focusing her gaze on me, she observes me for several moments, scrutinizing me as I desperately try to breathe in through my nose. Turning on her heel, she marches over to the corner. Placing the blade on the table, she grabs a bottle of water. Taking a sip of the water, she looks at me, her eyes narrowing again.

  “You feeling all right, my dear?”

  Laughing, I respond, “Peachy.”

  Anger flashes briefly in her eyes as she stomps back to where I’m swaying in the center of the room. My skin bristles from the cool air as she nears. Lifting the bottle to my lips, she says, “Drink.” Keeping my lips firmly closed, I just stare straight ahead. Her eyes soften around the edges as she coaxes, “Ttal, I’m not trying to harm you. I do not wish for you to become dehydrated, especially considering you were sick. Now, please drink.”

  Blinking several times, I stare at my mother. I’m struck by a sudden inability to speak, the shock from her words rendering me speechless. Why would she care? She never has before. It must be some ploy to get me to stay with her. She is right, though. I cannot afford to become dehydrated, not if I plan on escaping from this hellhole in one piece.