Quentin Faulkner steadied himself, avoiding Seraphina Ashworth's gaze. "What are you talking about? I don't understand!"
'I have to stay calm. I can't lose my composure, or I'm a dead man.'
A cold sneer touched Seraphina Ashworth's lips as she lifted her foot and brought it down squarely on Quentin Faulkner's head. "It seems you still haven't learned your lesson."
Pinned beneath Seraphina Ashworth's foot, Quentin Faulkner twisted, trying to wrench his head free. But who could ever evade her when she had them in her grasp?
"Let me tell you, that was just a warm-up. If you still won't talk, I'll let you experience my true methods. You'd best believe me—it's an experience you do not want to have."
As she spoke, Seraphina Ashworth pressed her foot down harder on Quentin Faulkner's head. His face instantly flushed crimson, the veins on his temples bulging.
"I really don't understand what you're talking about," Quentin Faulkner gasped.
