“No,” I murmur. “I’m making you aware of it.”
Snap.
Middle finger gone.
He thrashes, kicking the leg of the chair against the wall, teeth bared like an animal. But he’s still not talking.
The third one, I take slower. I want him to feel it coming.
I wrap the pliers around his ring finger, meet his eyes, and hold them.
“Tell me who your boss is,” I whisper, deadly calm. “Or I take the whole fucking hand next.”
Then, finally, he breaks.
“I—OKAY! Okay! I’ll tell you.”
I pause, blood dripping off the pliers. “I’m listening.”
He swallows hard, his voice wrecked. “His name’s Paulo Braga. Works out of Rio. But he’s got people here. Said there was a shipment coming in: coke, weapons, money. He wanted your docks.”
“So he sent a gunman after me?” I ask.
“No,” he rasps. “Braga wanted a distraction. I was supposed to shoot close, just enough to rattle you. Make you look over your shoulder so his crew could move. But then he saw Julian.”
I go still.
“Braga knew about him?” I ask.
The guy nods, trembling. “Said he didn’t trust the setup. Said your boy’s loyalty was… complicated.”
My grip tightens around the pliers. My mind sharpens like a blade.
“So the bullet,” I say. “It was meant for Julian?”
“No,” he says, but it’s shaky now. “I—I mean… not at first. Braga said shoot close. Just a warning shot.”
My grip tightens on the pliers.
“Thatwasn’ta warning shot. That bullet went clean through his shoulder.”
“I missed.”
“You fired from twenty feet away.”
He stammers, eyes wild. “Braga changed the plan last minute. I just did what I was told.”
His story’s cracking.
“Funny,” I say, crouching beside him again. “You seem real confident for someone talking out of their ass.”
He shuts his mouth. Breathes hard through his nose.
I lean in, my voice like a knife against his ear. “You’re leaving something out.”
“I told you what I know,” he rasps.
I straighten, chest rising and falling like a fucking bomb just went off behind my ribs.
