A cell with no exit. (Chapter 2)

 

He looked at her delicate features, at her delicate, always well-groomed hands. At her head tilted back slightly, her eyes closed.

"Don't try that with me."

She didn't answer. Krystian was increasingly afraid that it wouldn't end with just "pressing."

"You know perfectly well why you're here."

Again, silence, so deafening it stung. It stung deeply. "We used to be able to talk for hours, by the fireplace," he thought, but quickly pushed the thoughts aside. That was a long time ago, and that's gone now. He pulled out his chair and stood before her. He calmly spread out the photos in front of her, looking through the best ones. He had already calmed down before entering; nothing could stop him from extracting information from her. He turned on the recorder.

"Was there any emotional connection between you and the Black Sheep?"

The corners of her mouth curved upwards slightly. Silence again, a silence that was utterly depressing. He waited for an answer; the smile on her face was now clearly visible.

"Why are you asking? You know the answer, don't you? You know the answer to every question, even the ones you haven't asked yet."

Her gaze burned him, but he endured it. Her voice, though cold and filled with irony, still sounded like the melody he'd missed so much. He was supposed to be the one pushing, but she always knew how to manipulate him. "Not this time!" he decided as he walked through the door. "

You're right, I know the answer. Where were you..."

She looked at him with that famously indifferent gaze. "That way, I'll never get anywhere." He took off his jacket and hung it on a chair. "

He'll stop with these formulas. You know perfectly well what I want to know, and sooner or later you'll tell me."

"You know how to caress a woman with words."

Another irony, this time it flowed off him like a wall. He leaned over her.

"If it weren't for me, you would have been in the gutter long ago."

"If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened."

Her calmness terrified him; this wasn't the woman he knew. This wasn't the woman… he felt a faint hint of satisfaction that this brute, the Black Sheep, was dead. Even though it had all messed them up, taking down the entire gang, his career, he was still glad that this scumbag had gotten what he deserved.

"What happened between us was a huge mistake. And it has no bearing on this case.

" "Really? Apparently I was wrong. This is the end of our conversation for today."

And she closed her eyes again. This wasn't the end! He was just beginning.

"No, this isn't the end. I'll get what you know out of you.

" "You won't hurt me, I'm your only source of information. Your only source of information."

She rolled up her blouse sleeve, the scars from the cuts still visible. "

I can do whatever I want. You're worth as much as the rest of this scumbag. But I'm giving you a chance!"

"Fuck you."

His delicate white swan, his angel… she had once been an elegant twenty-three-year-old woman, and now? One of those drug dealers who had hit rock bottom. He walked up to her and pulled out a knife, the movements happening on their own. How many times had he done these movements? He placed the cold, engraved knife against her cheek, running it gently down her neck.

"You know that knife? How many throats have I slit with it?

" "Eighteen. "

She replied calmly, but he wasn't fooled. It moved her; she remembered the knife perfectly, having witnessed him use it. Eighteen was a long time for a twenty-six-year-old detective. "

I've been given a free hand. I can do whatever I want with you." "Dealers, who will remember them? When you're done with them, do whatever you want."

He toyed with the knife, brushing her thin, layered hair, once long, golden, natural curls, now straight as a wire and black as coal. She was afraid, but nothing was visible on the outside. He was the only one who sensed it, knew every millimeter of her body, her soul.

"You can't fool me. You're afraid. And I don't care whether you live or die."

He was bluffing, even though at that moment he was capable of doing something to her. She knew it; she'd seen him in action more than once.

"Will the psychologist have any comment on this?"

"Take that knife away .

" Her voice began to shake. "

But he did! Because I thought I'd accidentally cut off your tongue.

" "Stop it!"

He hadn't meant to; the information was the most important thing, nothing else. With the cold blade, he slid her scarf down. He slid lower and lower.

"If it weren't for me, you'd be lying here half-naked on the table. Do you think they have scruples here?"

She knew the answer, though there weren't any in his group; he chose the people himself, except for that one newcomer, but he was more of an errand boy… She'd already seen what the others were capable of.

"But I prefer the fear in your eyes. Besides, I don't play with leftovers."

The last sentence cut through the air like the blade of the knife he held in his hand. He threw the words up in the air, cold and indifferent. As quickly as he said it, he turned away.

It

touched her, the first word since the beginning of the conversation, piercing the barrier she'd created. "Leftovers... LEFTOVERS!!!" She jumped up and threw the recorder at him, of course she missed. She didn't delude herself that she would, but she wanted to get his attention. She couldn't stand the pain, the fact that she actually cared. His reaction was faster and completely different than she expected. In an instant, he was at her, pushing her against the wall, shock dulling the pain of the blow. Pinning her against the wall, he kissed her, brutal and possessive. Ending the kiss, he placed the knife against her cheek, smiling maliciously. "

Leftovers, yet they don't taste so bad." However, I prefer the whole fruit to the core.

They turned around, grabbed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the interrogation room as if nothing had happened. The door slammed shut.

"Good job, boss. Stage one passed."

He looked at her through the window; she slid to the ground like the first drop running down the glass. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Yes, stage one, passed."

He answered slowly, refusing to let the feeling return. "There's nothing left," he said calmly to himself, "and there won't be." "

See you tomorrow. "

As he climbed into the company jeep, he could still feel the taste of her lips. "You haven't changed a bit," he thought...