Phoebe's POV
My survival instincts kicked in as Harold gently pried the boning knife from my grip, his touch meant to calm me down.
His voice carried that coaxing tone I knew so well. "Sweetheart, this bastard has it coming, but do you really think killing him quickly will satisfy your rage?"
I looked down at Chester—bloodied beyond recognition—and shrugged. "Fine. That's enough for today."
Those words were exactly what Chester wanted to hear. He quit his screaming and looked hopefully at Ajax, who'd been enjoying the show from the corner, probably thinking he'd get some relief.
Then Harold spoke to Alistair, who'd just walked in behind him. "Alistair, get him out of here and keep him comfortable. Interrogation's dirty work—can't have Mrs. Bailey getting her hands any dirtier."
Alistair's response was crisp and respectful. "Copy that. Don't worry, Mrs. Bailey. Our methods might be straightforward, but they're definitely more efficient and vicious."
