I’ll admit—that was pretty fucking funny.
Zade let her have her fun and get as much information out of the three as possible—after she pinky swore and crossed her heart and hoped to die not to kill them. Unsurprisingly, Sibby has proven to be just as skilled with psychological torture as she is with physical. She made them want to die without even having to touch them.
I have a feeling it’s partly because of her atrocious singing, but I’m not about to tell her that.
For the past week, she’s been getting names of people who attend the Culling every year—whether they come as spectators or participants—the other traffickers who bought girls, and of course, any information Francesca and Xavier have on Claire.
“Rio Sanchez,” Sibby sings. “Still not going to tell me where he is?”
Francesca rolls her eyes, feigning an attitude to conceal just how frightened she is of a girl circling her like a hungry shark.
It’s not working.
Sibby is scary.
“I told you this already, I don’t know where he is. He helped her escape, and then he fled. That’s all I know, and frankly, I would gladly hand him over to you because I want him dead, too!” she says, her voice ending in a frustrated screech. She’s flushed bright red and panting. Anger, pain, and frustration all etched into the harsh lines in her face. Old makeup is cracked and smudging, aging her ten years.
She is so going to die with acne all over her face and I find poetic justice in that.
I roll my lips, attempting to ignore the sharp pain stabbing in the center of my chest. Anytime I think of Rio and what will happen when Zade eventually gets his hands on him… I kind of want to cry.
My feelings towards him are complicated, and I’m not sure I’ll ever truly understand them. Even more so now that I’ve met his sister and learned that the evil bitch before me was forcing him to do a lot more for her than I initially thought.
I said I wouldn’t feel guilty when Zade got ahold of him. But then he saved me. And now, I can’t say that I’ll stop Zade… but I can’t say I’ll feel nothing either.
“Do you want him dead because he helped the diamond escape, or because he betrayed you and put a crack in that icy little heart?” I ask.
Her eyes spit fire while she glowers at me.
“He was nothing more than a good fuck,” she seethes.
I bend at the waist, thinning my eyes. “Did you have to threaten to kill his sister every time you wanted him to fuck you?”
Rocco snorts, and Francesca’s head whips to him in offense. He’s pale, sweaty, and seemingly tired, but the malice in his eyes is unmistakable. “She stopped threatening that after the first two years—and I think it’s just because he got tired of hearing it.”
“Shut the fuck up!” she screeches, her face turning a ghastly shade of purple. Doesn’t suit her complexion very well.
“No! We’re in this fucking situation because of you!” he shouts back. “Because you couldn’t keep a handle on that stupid little bitch and refused to get rid of her. And now look!”
Francesca’s bottom lip trembles. “Sydney was worth—”
“She wasn’t worth shit!” he roars.
“She was!”
“Or she was keeping your secrets,” I cut in dryly. Francesca’s head snaps to me so quick, she nearly does herself a favor and breaks it.
“What did she tell you?” she demands, her voice cracking and eyes wild.
I shrug nonchalantly, giving nothing away. Sydney didn't tell me shit, but Francesca doesn't need to know that.
“Sydney knew?” Rocco asks with rage.
Francesca’s eyes widen, and she turns to Rocco with desperation.
“She found out… I-I don't know how. But she threatened to tell Claire if I allowed her to be auctioned. She acted out because it was the only thing keeping her in the house and our secret safe.”
My brows knit, trying to decipher what exactly Sydney knew.
“Why didn't you just kill her?” Rocco growls through gritted teeth.
“Claire wouldn't allow me to! She forced me to deal with it as a punishment for failing to get Sydney under control,” Francesca cries, nearly pleading with her brother.
Rocco looks away, “Is that why you stopped letting people fuck them?”
Now I really am confused. Sibby and I glance at each other, and she must note my expression because she comes around and gets in Francesca’s face.
“Tell me what you were doing,” she demands. “I don't like being left out.”