Part 11

Victor's wrists creaked against the zip-ties, plastic biting into skin already rubbed raw. He leaned forward as far as they would allow, spit flecking his beard as he snarled.

"If you're gonna kill me," he said, voice thick with hate, "then stop fucking around and do it. Otherwise shut up and walk away."

Dacre didn't answer. He just sat there, rocking slightly in the chair across from him, turning the knife over and over in his fingers.

Victor's eyes tracked it despite himself.

"Remember?" Dacre said softly. Too softly. "Remember how you killed my friends?"

Victor exploded forward, the chair legs shrieking across the floor. The restraints held.
"FUCK YOU!" he screamed. Veins stood out on his neck like cables. "I loved it. Every goddamn second. They begged—"

"Alex and Stanley did not beg!" Dacre roared.

The sound surprised even him. Victor blinked, then smiled.

"Oh, they did," Victor said, savoring it. "Stanley cried. Sniveled like a dog. And Alex—" He laughed, a short, ugly bark. "Alex cried for his friends."

Dacre was on his feet in a second, knife leveled inches from Victor's face.

"Those two were stronger than you'll ever be," he said. His hand shook, but the blade didn't. "They were kids, and they had more spine than you ever did."

Victor's grin faltered—just a twitch—but he recovered, leaning back as far as the chair allowed.
"Maybe," he said. "But they're dead. And I'm not." His eyes flicked to the knife. "So what does that say about you? Sitting there pretending you've got the guts to use that thing."

"I do," Dacre said.

The words came out low and certain, and that—more than the knife—made Victor pause.

"Then why am I still breathing?" Victor asked.

Dacre hesitated. The silence stretched, thick and buzzing.

"Because I need you," he said finally.

Victor barked out a laugh. "Need me?" He shook his head. "What, you lonely? Want to trade war stories? Sing songs by the fire?"

Dacre leaned forward. "Your warehouse."

Victor's laughter died.

"The one you dragged us to," Dacre went on. "The one where Alex and Stanley died. You had guns there. Ammo. More than we've seen since this all started."

Understanding bloomed in Victor's eyes, slow and cruel.
"You want to raid it," he said. "Even if I told you how to get there, you'd be walking into a meat grinder. My men are still crawling all over that place."

"I don't care," Dacre said, slamming his hand down on the table. "I need those weapons."

Victor flinched, then relaxed, smiling again. "You know what?" he said. "I don't think I will tell you a damn thing."

The knife moved before Dacre could think better of it.

Victor gasped as the blade sliced through fabric and skin, a shallow line across his chest. Blood welled up, dark and quick.

"Fucking—" Victor hissed, teeth bared. "Bitch."

Dacre's breath came fast now, ragged. The room felt too small. Too close.

"How did you do it?" he shouted. "How did you turn them against me?" His voice cracked. "They threw me out like garbage. I was their leader!"

Victor laughed, low and satisfied. "You were weak," he said. "Too kind. Too scared to make the hard calls. I just told them what they already felt—that you were holding them back."

"When?" Dacre grabbed his collar, hauling him forward. "How did you even talk to them?"

Victor leaned in despite the pain, eyes bright.
"Doesn't matter," he whispered. "They listened. That's what matters."

He paused, then smiled wider.

"You wanna know the best part?"

"The funny part," he said, voice almost gentle, "is they thought they were doing the right thing. Thought cutting you loose was survival." He chuckled, dry and hollow. "They had no idea they were stepping exactly where I wanted them."

Dacre shook his head, teeth clenched.

"You were the strongest one," Victor went on. "That scared them. People don't like strong leaders when things get hard—they like excuses."

Dacre snapped. "Do you think I'm in your hands?" he screamed. "Look at you! You're tied up!"

Victor's smile sharpened. "And yet," he said softly, "I'm still inside your head. You're here asking why instead of pulling the trigger. Because it hurts. Because you need it to make sense."

"Shut up," Dacre rasped.

Victor watched him unravel like it was theater. "You know what else?" he said. "They're probably dead by now. Too dumb to survive without you."

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

The scream tore out of Dacre.

Victor laughed louder. "There it is. Poor little leader. Betrayed, alone, hovering over the man who broke him." His eyes glittered. "Feels like shit, doesn't it?"

Dacre folded inward, elbows on knees, hands over his face. His shoulders shook.

"There it is," Victor murmured, satisfied.

"They're not dead," Dacre said through tears. "Nathan's leading them."

"Nathan?" Victor sneered. "That coward's probably rotting already."

"Stop."

"Or maybe not," Victor said, lowering his voice. "Maybe he's doing just fine. Maybe they're safer without you." He leaned forward. "Ever think maybe they were right? Maybe you were the problem?"

Dacre sucked in a breath. "I'm going back."

Victor barked out a laugh. "Back? And do what? Apologize?" His eyes burned. "They'll kill you the second they see you. Nathan especially."

"They wouldn't," Dacre muttered.

Victor strained against the bonds. "You sure? You really that confident anymore?"

Silence.

"I hope they do," Victor said quietly. "I hope they put you down like a rabid dog. Then I win."

Dacre lifted his head, eyes empty. "Careful how you talk to the man keeping you alive."

"You're not keeping me alive," Victor snapped. "You're just delaying it."

"I decide if you live."

Victor laughed, shaking his head. "Then do it. Kill me."

"Tell me where the warehouse is."

"Never."

The knife flashed.

Victor's scream ripped through the air as his pinky finger hit the floor with a wet sound. He thrashed, choking on his own breath, clutching the ruin of his hand.

Dacre hauled him up by the collar with frightening ease and shoved him into the backseat, slamming the door.

"You direct," Dacre said. "I drive."

"You're insane," Victor gasped. "Those weapons are mine."

Dacre stared straight ahead. "What if I help you kill my group?"

Victor froze.

Slowly, a manic light bloomed in his eyes. "You'd do that?"

"They betrayed me."

Victor smiled, licking blood from his lip. "Oh... how beautiful."

For the next hour, Victor talked. And Dacre drove.