Vengeance Road (Torpedo Ink #2) - Christine Feehan Page 0,100

four years old. He had been given to both male and female pedophiles at the same age. He was beaten and brutalized. He was raped and tortured. At seven his sexual training began, mostly to please women. Then men. Then they discovered he retained all information and was good at healing. He’d been given to his first doctor, a close friend of Sorbacov, who shared him. The man happened to have a problem he couldn’t solve, and Steele had solved it for him. At seven.

After that, the doctor was a regular who wanted to talk as much as he wanted to fuck up a child. He was the first to educate him as a doctor. By ten he had outgrown the doctor and needed someone with more knowledge. At his friend’s request, Sorbacov shared him with another doctor.

Through it all, Steele continued to learn how to kill. He mastered weapons and hand-to-hand combat. He was good with poisons because he retained any information given to him. He knew what common household cleaners would cause the most pain when he poured them down throats or splashed them on skin. They were in a warehouse used essentially as a torture house for interrogation and that meant, with all the tools and car shit around, he had easy access to even worse chemicals.

He knew where, on the human body, he could inflict the most pain and still keep someone alive. He had no problems visiting that on either of the two men. Bruiser had made the mistake of taunting him, just as he knew the idiot would. They were so predictable. Screams didn’t bother him. He barely paid attention to the sounds, just enough to hear breaking points. If it wasn’t there, and no questions were answered, he took it up a notch. If they were at a breaking point, he took it down.

“This isn’t going to stop for you. I can keep it up all night, all day and all week. I don’t give a shit. If I get tired, which I doubt, one of the brothers will take over while I lie right there and take a nap.” He indicated the long table where a carburetor had been laid out. “Paid two weeks on the place.”

His tone never changed. It wouldn’t. His pulse wouldn’t change either. He’d buried his emotions deep. These men were part of the club that had taken his two-year-old son. He’d kill them all, one by one, until he got his boy back. That would start next if they couldn’t get to Bridges.

Torpedo Ink was good at what they did. They’d acted as assassins for their country and Sorbacov for well over twenty years. Most had been sent out as teenagers. Most had started killing, striking back at the men and women who’d abused them, when they’d not even been ten. They knew killing and they were comfortable with it. Far too comfortable and all of them knew it. This was their element. What they knew best.

He’d been at them for going on three hours now. He sent a deliberate grin to Maestro. “I hope the Guns and Skull club used really good soundproofing. It’s going to get a lot louder in here as the day goes on.”

Bruiser squeaked and shook his head so hard it looked as if he might break his neck. Steele let the smile slip as he turned back to the two men hanging from the chains. Both were naked. There was water right beneath them, their bare feet in it, but it did nothing to blot out the smell of urine.

“Would you like to tell me again what you planned to do with my son? Or my woman? I’m really interested in knowing. Since you don’t want to tell me Zane’s location, entertain me with your plans for them both. I’ve forgotten what you said. What was that, Bruiser? Dart? You remember?”

Steele picked up the cattle prod. “Not as effective as the battery Mechanic is hooking up for me. I’m getting tired of this little thing.”

Bruiser screamed and screamed, the sounds of agony filling the wide warehouse the Guns and Skulls club had made into a garage just in case law enforcement questioned them. Few did, and Steele hoped they kept it that way. He hadn’t even gotten started. A cattle prod was nothing in his arsenal of tools.

“Let’s start again.”

He was patient. He’d learned patience in a hard school. While he’d been with any of the four doctors/surgeons he’d trained under,

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