“Ican’t!”
“You can.” I straightened, looking at both of them. “And you will.”
Sinclair screamed—not from pain yet, but from the panic spiraling out of him like his ribs couldn’t contain it.
“Rememberevery single one,” I said.
He opened his mouth to argue, but from the corner of my eye, I saw Voodoo press the button.
Ignacio’s scream tore through the basement. Full-body convulsion. Chair legs skidding. Foam flecking the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t move,” Voodoo told him calmly. “It would be better for you not to draw our attention.”
Sinclair’s sweat doubled instantly. He shook so hard the chair rocked under him. He didn’t even try to hide the panic now.
“Keep talking, Sinclair,” Alphabet said as he approached him with the laptop, voice cool and clipped. “Because we’re about to audit every part of your life. Let’s start with the last time you heard from them.”
He answered. Rapid-fire. Half-useful, half garbage.
Lunchbox slammed him with follow-up questions. We measured their answers against each other’s reaction. Cross-checked the lies and tore apart the details. The location of his safe upstairs and what might be in it. The combination was the easiest bit.
Ignacio named everyone from his grade school instructors to his other bosses. Unsurprisingly, he was a handler for more than one supplier and that was news to Sinclair. It might almost be funny if we were talking about anything else.
That said, none of this was funny. It was horrific, disgusting, and tragic. I’d fought real wars with real consequences and these two had taken to commodifying people as products. The utter dehumanization of it all left me cold.
Two hours of hammering later, we had everything we were going to get out of them. There was no more blood to squeeze from this set of stones. I swept my glance around to each of the guys, eyebrows raised.
Lunchbox nodded once, never taking his gaze off Sinclair.
Voodoo twirled the remote around one finger as he nodded as well.
Alphabet gave me a swift bob of his head, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he continued to work on the details.
We were done.
“Unhook him,” I told Voodoo as I motioned to Ignacio. He let out a sobbing gasp of relief, that choked just moments later as I headed for him with a knife.
I ignored his screams and his pleas just as he had ignored them in every person he’d transported. I removed the dick he’d been so proud of and shoved it down his throat before I strangled him.
Sinclair I left for Voodoo and Lunchbox. They carved out two pounds of flesh from him before they ended it.
Two pounds, one for each of the twins.
In the aftermath, Alphabet leaned back and met my gaze. “We might not have enough.” Too many holes. Too many open questions.
“I know.” But I refused to disappoint her again. “We make it work.”
Grace needed to know. If it took the rest of our lives, we would get her what she needed to know.
Chapter
Eleven
GRACE
The next twenty-four hours blurred, smeared, and folded in on themselves like pages of a book that had been rained on and left out to dry crooked.
I didn’t remember leaving Sinclair’s basement.
