Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
He screams. I knew he would. This time, I muffle his cries with a pillow shoved against his face. I shush him softly and flick away the gore-covered eye. It skitters like a squashed grape across the floor.
“There, there, it’s okay, big guy, it’s all over. You’re okay. You’re alive! And just think, you earned a new nickname tonight!”
“Fuck you,” he hisses when I move the pillow away.
I kick him in the face. He grunts and falls onto his side. I straddle him, knife pressed to his neck, point right in the soft spot at the top of his chest. He’s hissing in breaths, bloody gore rolling down his cheek.
“Let’s try again. Tell me about Kieren. What did he take?”
“I don’t know!”
“Do you have any idea how badly he hurt my future wife? She’s so pissed at that guy, and in any other situation, I wouldn’t care. What’s she to me? But I’m marrying her, which means she’s my responsibility, for better or for worse. So help me out. I want to get her some closure. What did Kieren take?”
“I don’t give a fuck about your future wife you—“ He starts cursing at me in Russian.
I jab the new knife into his left eye.
Peter does not like that. He mewls like a baby and twists around, doing the spinning crocodile. I step back and watch him flop about, his tiny dick slapping his inner thigh. More blood streaks the floor.
“Okay, okay, I got you, I got you.”
“My eyes! I can’t see, my God, I can’t see!”
I leave the knife where it is and draw a third, running the blade across his neck. That gets Peter’s attention. “I’ll pull it out if you ask nicely."
“No, please don’t. I need… hospital… please…”
“Kieren. Talk.”
“I don’t know anything! I don’t—“ He hisses when I cut him. It’s not doing anything for me at this point. Peter’s putting up a decent fight, but god, it’s so boring. We both know eventually he’ll break. Hopefully we’re skipping ahead to that part now.
“Do us both a favor and talk, please.”
“Okay, okay,” he says desperately. “I know… he had help. I heard him bragging about it. I don’t know what he took… but he couldn’t get the information on his own. Please, that’s everything!”
“Huh.” I sit back in genuine surprise. I had no clue there’s another traitor. That means whoever helped Kieren is probably still working at the construction firm. “That’s helpful.”
“Please… call an ambulance… leave me here… I won’t tell anyone. I swear I won’t!”
“Here’s the thing though, Peter. Remember earlier? When I told you my name? You had to have realized what would happen the second you heard it, right?”
“No… no… please!”
I cut his throat. It brings me as much pleasure as slicing open an Amazon package. Except this is much bloodier. Peter gurgles and kicks, making a damn fucking mess. I step back and watch him expire, which is the least I can do.
Peter the Butcher deserved worse, if I’m honest with myself. He’s done some shitty things if what I’ve heard is remotely true. And if it’s not? He earned that nickname somehow, and I doubt it’s because he’s good at making sandwiches and roasting pork.
“Pain in my ass,” I mutter, kicking his corpse once he stops thrashing.
Blood business, this whole murder-and-torture stuff, but at least I got a lead.
Peter’s big, dead body takes a while to deal with. I’m tired when I get home pushing three in the morning. It’s dead on the streets. I’m thinking about traitors, about information sieving through my family’s fingers, about dead Russians, when I stop in the middle of the lobby and turn to my left.
She’s curled up on a couch asleep.
Well, fuck. I should leave her. Whatever Regan’s doing here, it isn’t good. That girl only ever shows up at my place when there’s hell to pay.
Or for very good sex.
Mostly sex so far.
With a breath, I kneel down beside her and give her shoulder a gentle shake.
This is the second person I’ve woken up tonight.
Her eyes blink at me. Big, beautiful eyes. “Liam.” She sits up, pulling away. “Shit. Was I asleep?”
“You were indeed.”
“Fuck. What time is it?” She checks her phone and groans. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t be here this late.”
“How long were you out for?”
“A few hours. It doesn’t matter.” She squints at me, mouth pulling tight as she takes me in. “Is that blood?”
I look down at myself. “Probably. Where?”
“On your sleeve. And in your hair. Liam, you’re a mess. What’s going on?” She fusses at me like she’s looking for a wound.
I let her search me. Weirdly, I like the attention. I like that she’s worried. Once she figures out it’s not my blood, she gets all stuck up about it.
“I was on a job.” I brush at my sleeve. The front desk guard isn’t paying us any attention. He knows better than to notice when I’m around.