Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“I don’t know anything, I swear,” he whimpers.
“There it is again. Everyone swears. If I had a dollar for every man who swore on his life while actively shitting himself, I’d own five more warehouses.” I grab the chair beside him, flip it around, and sit with the backrest pressed against my chest. “Let’s talk about Danforth Steel.”
His chin trembles.
Fear. My favorite emotion.
“They’re planning on finally going through with the Jameson merger, right?” Only took five years . . . I don’t say that bit, but I always wondered why it didn’t happen years ago. College. That’s why. She probably agreed to the marriage after she got her diploma, which she got a few months ago. “Expanding the shipping arm? Moving certain assets off the books?” I tilt my head. “You’re the guy who signs half the internal memos. Don’t play dumb.”
“I-I can’t—”
“Oh my god,” I snap, dropping my head back. “If you say ‘I can’t’ one more time, I will get my scalpel real quick and personally peel your skin off your face.”
He sobs.
“Okay, okay.” I sigh and pat his knee. “Let’s take a step back. Breathe. Try again. How about I help you help me? You can give me the access code to get into their computers and records, right?”
His nostrils flare. Bingo.
“I don’t—”
“Don’t do that.” I lift the pliers. “You do know, Travis. And you know why I know this? Because you’re the guy who hands out the employee badges when they get reprogrammed.”
I tilt my head to the side, grinning like a fool.
“And if you don’t give me what I want, I’m going to find a new use for these. Starting with your fingers. Maybe toes. Maybe something else entirely, depending on how flexible you are.”
“You’re crazy,” he whispers.
“Finally.” I grin. “Someone who gets me.”
I lean forward, gripping his wrist. Hard. He squirms, gasping through clenched teeth. “Last chance, Trav. Give me something useful.”
He crumbles fast.
“They—they have a shipment, just came in,” he blurts. “South docks. It’s raw steel.”
My blood hums.
“There we go.” I squeeze his wrist like I’m proud of him. “See? I like this. I think we can be friends.”
“There’s more.” His voice shakes. “There’s a board meeting coming up. They’re going to announce new equity partners. Jameson’s son—he—”
“Grant?” I cut in with a tilt of my head.
His eyes widen, shocked I know his name.
“Y-yes. He’s taking a larger role. He’s—they plan to marry him into—”
“Oh, I know.” I wave a hand. “Trust me. That part? I’m painfully up to date.”
He swallows. “I told you everything. Please, I-I have children—”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
His face blanches.
“And now,” I add cheerfully, “you get to be useful one more time.”
His relief lasts half a second.
Until I squeeze the pliers around his index finger.
He screams. The sound echoes beautifully through the warehouse. “Aw, don’t be dramatic,” I taunt, twisting. “We’re barely past the appetizer.”
“Please—please stop—”
“Buddy”—I chuckle—“you should be grateful I’m doing this by hand. Rafe wanted to use a drill.”
He screams again. This time much louder.
“Christ,” I groan, “I’m going to get a noise complaint. And this doesn’t have a neighbor for miles.”
I twist the pliers one more time.
His finger snaps off, blood spraying.
“Tsk. Tsk, I hate making a mess.” I turn to look over at Rafe. “Think that will come out?” I point at the puddle of blood now staining my shirt. Rafe shrugs.
Travis sobs, his head hanging down. I drop the broken digit on the floor and lean back, blowing out a breath.
“You know,” I muse aloud, “this really helped. I feel lighter. Refreshed. This is basically therapy.”
He gurgles something. Probably a request for death. It’s cute. Adorable. Maybe I’ll throw him a bone . . . or just remove another. That works too.
“Fine.” I sigh, standing. “I’ll speed it up. But only because I have a meeting in an hour and my shirt has blood on it.”
I pull the knife from the small of my back. He tries to shrink away.
“Relax.” I drag the blade against his cheek. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re very tense?”
And then I open his throat with my blade. He slumps instantly. Blood spills down his shirt.
I step back before it hits my boots. “See, Rafe. Like I said . . . therapeutic.” I wipe the blade on the back of his shirt and toss it on the table. Rafe bellows out a laugh.
The warehouse door creaks. Vin (one of my uncle’s men) steps in. He’s got no idea what I wanted with this fool, but luckily for me, Vin isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and won’t ask any questions other than where to bury it. “Body?”
“Recycling.” I shrug. “Or compost. I’m not picky.”
Vin snorts. “Anything useful?”
“Everything useful,” I answer, grabbing my phone. “Rafe and I have some personal business, so see to it that he gets disposed of.”