“I disagree,” Burnofsky said as blandly as he could.

Oh, Bug Man would owe him. He wished he had video of Charles planning Bug Man’s humiliation and Jessica’s murder. Anthony Elder, that snotty little black British prodigy who called himself Bug Man, would kiss Burnofsky’s ass for this.

Burnofsky would own Bug Man.

“I don’t care about Bug Man,” Benjamin snarled. “It wasn’t Bug Man. It was her. Her!”

Burnofsky at first assumed he was talking about Bug Man’s girl, Jessica. But no …of course not.

“I want her hurt.” Benjamin touched his damaged mouth. Then he clenched his fist. “Damaged in some permanent way, something she can never overcome, something that will make her remaining life a horror. Not death, no, we still need her to get at her father’s secrets, but pain, such pain and despair, yes.”

Not poor, dumb, absurdly beautiful Jessica. Oh, no. Benjamin was thinking of Sadie McLure.

Burnofsky suppressed a sneer. Benjamin was losing his mind. The experience