“You should’ve thought about her family, before you opened your mouth to Herrera,” he mutters.
Slamming Tony’s hand into place, he locks the plier tips around his pinky.
The restraints cut into his skin as he jerks back.
“Hey! Hold on… just… wait…” he stammers.
Malcolm twists, the tiny bone snapping with a sharp crack.
Tony’s scream tears out of him… raw, ripping from the bottom of his lungs. His whole body convulses against the chair, feet kicking uselessly against the concrete as he tries to pull his hand away from the pain.
Maverick lets out a low whistle. “There it is. I just love when they finally break.”
His chest heaves. Sweat beads on his forehead, mixing with blood dripping off his chin. The smirk is gone, his mouth hanging open in shock, breath shuddering.
Grabbing his finger, Malcolm grinds the broken joint once, real slow.
Tony screams again, voice shredding.
I move in until his wild eyes lock on mine. “Every lie you fed me bought you this.”
His eyes go glassy with panic. “Londyn… please…”
“Don’t you dare say my name, ” I seethe, tightening my grip on his jaw.
Malcolm shifts to the next finger. He doesn’t raise the pliers, just sets them there. The cold metal brushing over the swollen skin like a promise.
Tony’s breath stutters, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine… fine! I’ll talk. Just… just don’t… ”
“Then start,” Malcolm growls, his voice vibrating through the room.
Swallowing hard, Tony’s breath catches on the pain. “The textile plant… north docks… Herrera uses it as a hold point. Wednesday nights. Two trucks. Domínguez and Laro run the pickups… Pira coordinates…” His words come out choppy, between stuttering breaths.
Words spill out, fast, desperate, tripping over each other.
He pauses only to cough blood into his lap.
For a moment, he slumps, breathing ragged, eyes unfocused.
Then he looks up, a flicker of something mean twisting the pain on his face.
“You think this saves you, Londyn?” His voice breaks, but his sneer stays sharp. “Tie me up. Threaten me. Torture me. Pretend you’re in control. The Syndicate will find you… and finish the job.”
Demolition slams his fist into Tony’s jaw, the sound echoing like a gunshot. He cries out, cheek already swelling.
Tilting his head back, Tony spits blood onto the floor, chest heaving like he’s struggling to breathe.
Then that cocky grin slides back into place.
“You’re all dead. And when my uncle comes for you?” His bloody smile stretches thin as he mocks, “You won’t even have time to scream.”
TWENTY-ONE
NIGHTMARE
An hour later…
The smellof Tony’s blood hangs heavy in the air. His head hangs low, face already a busted, swollen mess. Every bruise, every cut, every ragged breath… reminders of how he betrayed Londyn. What he did to Ty. What he tore out of her life like it was nothing.
