I chuckle. “Diavolo is my boss. Though I take it as a compliment. What I care more about is who you’re working for.” I pull out my scalpels. “We can make this as difficult or as easy as you like. It’s been a while since I’ve skinned someone alive, and tonight I’m feeling particularly festive.”
The man throws back his hood, an expression of determination marring his features: Goody, a stubborn one.
“Tell me about your boss. Where can I find him?”
The man snarls. “You really think I’m going to spill Fyodor’s secrets? He tells me nothing. I’m just the grunt worker, you dumbass.”
I quite like this guy. Too bad we’ll have to torture him. Just kidding, that’s my favorite part. Kage looms behind him, and the man throws the bag at my feet. I step toward it, then open it to reveal cash.
Pretty straightforward exchange. Cash for the weapons, the chef was getting them. They’re not mass-produced, which most likely means there are few in number. We run the weapons through New York, so I imagine this was the best they could produce after The Lion’s influence and numbers dwindled.
“Take him with us,” I command Kage.
In the split- second Kage goes to grab him, the man begins to fight for his life. I’m rather impressed he’s not coming willingly. I prefer when they have some fight in them. They scuffle, and it’s the first time I’ve seen Kage in action. He’s a demon, and I was right to not engage with him when I first arrived, because he’s locked in to kill. The dilemma will be to stop him when he's in such a frenzy, much like Tyson. However, Kage can still hear and see me. It’s only when I choose to tug on his leash that he’ll stop.
He hits the man, and the guy smashes into the large dumpster. He pulls out a gun, but Kage deflects it with ease. It goes off, and I barely have enough time to move before pain rips through my shoulder instead of my chest.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I cuss Kage out for putting me in the crossfire. I mean, c’mon, how pathetic? But he’s not interested in me. I was nothing but a casualty in his hunt.
“I wouldn’t!” the man screams as he pulls out a small remote control device. “Or everything goes boom.”
I realize then that he most likely has a bomb strapped underneath his jacket. Kage pauses momentarily, and I glance at Tyson, who’s aiming his gun in his direction but won’t shoot until I give my signal.
I make a point to tap at my wrist, indicating without words that’s where he needs to aim.
The shot goes off, and Kage doesn’t even flinch as the bullet whistles beside him.
Blood explodes from the man's wrist, and the remote drops from his hand. Kage kicks it out of the way as I approach them and calls Izak. “We need the car ASAP.”
Kage grabs the man by the collar of his hoodie, as if to hit him again, but I shove him off and slide a scalpel down the front of the material, exposing a bomb strapped to his chest.
Motherfucker was actually going to blow us up.
But the bigger problem is that fucking blood pouring from his wrist. It was a gamble, but one I’m certain I can work with. We only need him alive long enough for answers.
Another hound pulls the car to a screeching halt at the mouth of the alley.
“I need to get to work on him right away. Take your shirt off and apply pressure. We need to keep him alive long enough to get answers. I can stabilize him until then.”
Izak opens the back car door, and everything unfolds quickly, with everyone in action. I’m not letting this motherfucker die on me when he might have the last of the answers I need to eradicate his little movement against the Armani family.
Tyson scales the wall, hitting the ground with athump, then helps Kage drag the sobbing man into the car.
He’s gasping and screaming as his wrist bleeds out, and I know without a doubt this fucker has fight in him yet. And I was about to use that against him, with every intention of gettinganswers, before letting him die a cruel death for ever intending to blow me and my men up.
31
ROMI
I’ve stared at the blank canvas all evening and into the early hours of the morning, feeling more inspired since coming back from the farmhouse. I mix colors and try to edge my brush on the surface, but then retract it. I’ve stepped back and re-evaluated it numerous times. Every time I approach it, I look at the previous pieces I’d attempted, the ones with golds and oranges blazing through the black tarnishing them.
“Fuck.” I pick up Borris, holding him close to my chest and petting him as I glance at the boxes filled with Lorraine’s stuff.
From the moment we returned, Dante has been gone, and it’s been hours since I’ve heard from him. I suppose it comes with the job.
My mother sent me a detailed text message regarding a restraining order against Meredith, which offers a small sense of relief.
Seeing the farmhouse unraveled a part of me I’d forgotten. I've remembered that life goes on, no matter what or who is taken from it. Strangely, I felt at ease, taking in the house and land where I spent the first six years of my life, grateful to Dante for taking me, when I’d for so long forgotten it.
