“I’m more interested in the definition of kicking your ass.”
His quarry tut-tutted. “There are only two emotions in this world: love and fear. And you, my friend, are operating out of fear.”
That philosophy degree had taken Blight’s reactivity down to that of a Buddhist monk. Nick missed the old Blight who’d had his sentence increased twice. Once for punching a guard in the balls and once for trying to drown a fellow inmate in a washing machine. Granted, both victims had deserved it. But Nick wasn’t interested in thinking of Blight as a tragic hero.
He was tired, frustrated, and knew for certain that Blight knew something about Beth.
Nick slammed his palm down on the table. “Listen, you rat-tailed wannabe cult leader. I know you knew Beth, and I know you had something to do with her disappearance.”
“Where’s your proof?” Blight smirked, flashing his teeth and making Nick want to punch every single one of them out of his face. “You know you’ve only got a few more weeks to harass me like this. I get out soon. No more showing up and dragging me out for yet another interrogation. I’m rehabilitated, motherfucker.”
Rehabilitated his ass.
Christian Blight would walk out of prison and right back into his life of crime.
Only now he was armed with a business degree, so he’d probably be even better at selling drugs or whatever crime he decided to pursue.
Nick leaned in. “Maybe Weber can’t show up on your doorstep once you’re out, but I’m a private citizen. I’ll show up at your mom’s dinner table. I’ll be on the barstool next to yours at Arooga’s when the Steelers are playing. I’ll follow your sister down the goddamn produce aisle. I’ll take your grandma to church on Sundays. And I won’t stop until you tell me what you know about Beth Weber’s whereabouts.”
Something stirred in Blight’s cool eyes. Something dark and unsettling.
“Love and fear,” Blight repeated. “You start messing with the people I love, I won’t hesitate to give you a reason to fear.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
He opened his hands. “Just stating facts. You bring your obsession anywhere near my family, I’ll pay a visit to yours. Maybe I’ll start with one of your dad’s restaurants, give the people a few new reasons to give him shitty reviews online. Or maybe I’ll swing by Dr. Santiago’s office and talk prescription drug sales.”
It took a Herculean effort, but Nick kept his expression impassive.
Blight leaned forward, intertwining his fingers. “Of course, I’d love to have a nice, long chat with that pretty psychic girlfriend of yours. She seems to be quite the magnet for trouble.”
Nick’s blood went cold for the span of a heartbeat before the Santiago rage turned it to boiling. “You go anywhere near Riley or my family and you can fucking forget prison. You’ll be headed to the graveyard in a shitty pine box that gives your dead ass splinters.”
Blight’s smile was humorless. “Then we have an understanding.”
“Know what I understand from all my visits here?” Nick asked through clenched teeth.
“What’s that?”
“That it takes a guard thirty-five seconds to open that door.” With that, he lunged across the table and landed a satisfying right hook. Blight’s head snapped back, and Nick’s knuckles sang.
“Did you have to go for the nose? Now I won’t be able to breathe right,” his opponent complained, holding his nose.
“Yeah. I did.” Nick was so busy enjoying the blood dripping from Blight’s nose that he missed the windup. The man’s fist connected with his eye, ringing Nick’s bell.
“Ow! Why are your knuckles so pointy? You shave ’em down with a shiv?”
“I punch block walls for fun, dumbass.”
The door flew open, and an annoyed-looking guard holding half a sandwich entered. “What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded.
“He tripped over his shoelaces and fell into the wall,” Nick insisted, pointing at Blight.
“Then he slipped on my nose blood and hit his face on the table,” Blight added.
“That’s exactly what happened,” Nick concurred.
“You’re both assholes,” the guard said.
