His Dark Angel

Chapter 3

Nyx's POV

Staring at the two people tied to chairs before me, I wondered where to begin. Stab him in the junk to wake him up, a sharp, eager thought sliced through my mind - Rage.

A different impulse countered it, cooler, more cautious: Not that I'm against b****y t*****e, but... kid's right there. Don't want him traumatized - Night.

I glanced at the boy sitting almost unnervingly still beside me.

Being considerate was such a hassle. A sigh escaped me, loud in the tense room. The boy’s eyes flickered towards me, curious. Let's get this over with, the eager voice urged again. Fine. Less b****y, then.

"Hey, kid," I kept my voice level, maybe a little too devoid of warmth. "Name? Age? Where'd they grab you from?"

He didn't flinch, didn't look away. Just held my gaze steady. A ghost of a smirk touched my lips. Gutsy.

"Antonio," he said, his voice clear despite the situation. "I'm eight. They took me from my brother's house tonight. I don't know why."

Eight years old. He spoke like someone much older, his composure unsettling. Time to push.

"And your brother is...?" I let the question hang, watching his face cloud over as he debated. "No lies, kid. I'll know."

"Aiden Bonavero," he finally said, the name dropping into the silence.

Aiden Bonavero. The name resonated. g**g leader. Figures. Rival g**g, blackmail. Simple.

"Okay," I nodded slowly, my mind already working. My attention drifted back to the stirring figures tied to the chairs. Good. Saves me the trouble.

The kid was watching me intently. "You didn't... react," he observed.

I couldn't help the sarcastic drawl. "Oh, apologies. Gasp! Aiden Bonavero? The big, bad killer? Shaking in my boots," I rolled my eyes. A genuine smile finally broke through his composure. Okay, maybe he wasn't totally numb.

"You squeamish, kid?" I asked, turning back to our guests. "'Cause interrogation time tends to get messy."

"No. Find out what they want," he said, his jaw set.

Strong stomach. Still a kid, though. Minimal gore it is. I pulled out my hunting knife, letting the steel catch the dim light as I toyed with it. The man’s eyes tracked the blade, wide with dawning terror. Without warning, I drove the knife into the already bleeding gunshot wound on his leg.

His scream ripped through the air, raw and agonized – a sound that quieted the restless energy under my skin. He thrashed against the ropes, tears streaming. His accomplice jolted fully awake, her eyes mirroring his terror.

I leaned in close to the man, my voice dropping. "Who sent you? Why the kid?" I pressed the knife slightly deeper. "Answer right, maybe you walk. Lie..." I let the threat hang.

His eyes flickered, darting nervously. He was going to lie. Before the first syllable escaped, I yanked the knife free and, with a flick of my wrist, sent two of his fingers skittering across the floor. Another choked scream tore from him. His partner sobbed openly.

"Think carefully," I warned, my voice flat. "Lie again, and they won't even find pieces to bury." Pain etched lines on his face, but fear warred with it. Fear of me, and fear of whoever sent him.

"Can't... tell you," he gasped, trembling. "He'll kill me..."

Pathetic, the sharp voice sneered in my head. Make him fear us more. A cold grin I didn't consciously summon spread across my face. An almost detached sensation came over me as my hands moved, the knife becoming an extension of some darker will. Slicing, pricking, twisting... not deep, not fatal, but designed to unravel him. His breath grew shallow, his body slumping, barely conscious.

Enough.

I grabbed his hair, forcing his head up. His eyes were glazed. "Who. Sent. You?" Silence. Useless. I let his head drop.

Turning to the woman, I let my blood-splattered grin widen. She flinched violently. Before I could even ask, words tumbled out of her in a high-pitched, desperate torrent.

"Roberto! It was Roberto Tortellini!" she cried, trembling uncontrollably. "He wanted the kid! Blackmail! To force Bonavero into a partnership! There's a contract! That's all I know, I swear! Please, don't kill me!"

Roberto... the sleazebag. Made sense. I studied her, the knife still dripping. Weak. A pawn.

We told her we wouldn't kill her if she talked, the cooler voice(Night) reminded me. I sheathed the knife and cut her ropes.

"Cooperation noted," I said, my voice devoid of inflection. "Advice? Get out of town. Roberto finds out you talked, he won't be merciful. Go."

She scrambled away, stumbling out the door as fast as her legs could carry her.

I turn to her partner, bringing out my phone as i text my cleanup crew to take care of the mess i made.

I turned back to Antonio. He hadn't flinched, hadn't looked away once. He just watched, his young eyes holding an unnerving depth.

"Well, kid," I muttered, wiping a smear of blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. "You're... something else."

Keep him, the thought echoed, unexpectedly possessive. No, I countered silently. He goes home.

"Come on, kid," I said, gesturing to the door. "Let's get out of this dump. Need a shower."

He nodded, sliding off the sofa and following me without a word. A flicker of something almost warm touched me as I heard his small footsteps behind me.