Chapter 269
Chapter 269:
Crawford stood before him, methodically rolling up the sleeves of his dark shirt. He extended his hand, and his team leader placed a gleaming surgical-grade scalpel into his palm.
Mick stared at the blade. Panic seized his throat.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mick screamed, thrashing against the nylon straps. “The police are coming! You can’t do this p>
Crawford let out a soft, elegant exhale. He stepped forward and pressed the flat side of the scalpel against Mick’s cheek, dragging it downward slowly, leaving a thin, stinging red line on the skin.
“The police?” Crawford whispered, his voice impossibly gentle and utterly devoid of mercy. “By the time I am finished with you, you will be begging for the police p>
He leaned in, his lips close to Mick’s ear.
“That woman in the alley,” he murmured. “She belongs to me. You and your animals terrified her. That makes me very, very angry p>
Crawford straightened. Without any change in his expression, he drove the scalpel into the thick muscle of Mick’s uninjured left thigh.
Mick let out a blood-curdling shriek. His body convulsed violently against the chair.
Crawford withdrew the blade with a smooth, practiced motion. Dark blood soaked immediately through the denim.
𝗤𝗎а𝘭𝗶𝘁𝘆 t𝘳aոѕ𝘭аti𝗈n𝘴 𝗼n
“Now,” Crawford said, his tone as calm as if he were placing a lunch order. “Tell me exactly where the underground laboratory is located. My patience is extremely limited p>
“I don’t know!” Mick sobbed, choking on blood and saliva.
Crawford nodded slowly, an expression of polite disappointment settling on his face. He raised his hand again.
The interrogation was precise, clinical, and absolutely devastating. Crawford understood exactly which nerve clusters to target to maximize pain without causing fatal blood loss. After three unrelenting minutes, Mick’s psychological defenses collapsed entirely. He sobbed hysterically, screaming out the address of a chemical plant in Providence, Rhode Island — the names of the distributors, the security codes, the delivery schedules. He gave up everything.
Crawford listened without expression, committing every detail to memory. When Mick finally fell silent, Crawford looked at the scalpel in his hand with an expression of quiet, profound disgust.
He set the blade on the concrete floor, produced a pristine white silk handkerchief from his pocket, and cleaned his fingers slowly and thoroughly. Then he turned and walked toward the exit.
“Clean him up,” Crawford told his men, without looking back. “Ship him somewhere he will never speak a single word to anyone again. I never want to see his name in any official record for the rest of his life p>
Crawford stepped out into the rain. He got into his waiting SUV, the heavy aura of what had just occurred settling around him like a second skin.
The black Maybach glided smoothly into the underground VIP parking garage of the Boston hotel.
Cole sat in the back seat with his arms still wrapped around June. She had stopped fighting him miles ago, her body rigid and completely silent, radiating a freezing, impenetrable hostility.