“Youhelped in having Blake kidnapped. So that’s why I hadyoukidnapped.”
I removed my foot from his throat.
He was lying still, but the next part would fill him with fire.
I was looking forward to that, but again, I wasn’t stupid. I whistled, and the door opened. My men filtered back inside. I motioned for them to come forward. I’d need them to hold him back.
“I’m going to let you live, Ashton.”
His eyes jerked to mine. He didn’t believe me.
I squatted at his head again. “No. It’s true. After I tell you the rest, my men will take you back.”
I took hold of his hand, the one where my knife was still embedded. He hadn’t used it on me, so I was going to take it back. Another day, though. Another battle. I held his hand, took hold of the knife, and waited. “The other reason I had you taken? One of my rules is that once you hurt one of mine, I return it tenfold. So because of that, when you get home, you’re going to find out what it’s like to have someone of your own hurting. I hurt you physically, but the most enjoyment I get is when I hurt you here.” I touched his chest where his heart was located. “Your woman runs a bowling alley, right?”
He froze.
“She bought it. Renovated it. Put her heart and soul into it.” I met his gaze, wrapping my hand around the knife’s handle again. “Too bad it burned down tonight.”
His body coiled to spring, but I ripped the knife out of him and backed up.
He sprung up, charging me.
My men were there. This time I let them hold him back.
He couldn’t fight them, not in the state he was in.
I had one more item to share. “Tristian West was also a part of gathering information on Blake.”
“I’m going to kill you. Slowly and one limb at a time,” he vowed. He meant it too. I could see he did, and I paused to take in this sight of him. Enacting revenge for what they did to Blake, that was my job.
That wasmy right.
“His woman is a painter, right? She’s doing well. Has a new gallery with all her pretty new paintings. New masterpieces that sell for thousands.”
He cursed under his breath, but he stopped fighting my men.
“She has a new show coming up in two weeks.” This time, I smiled, and this time, I meant it. “They’ll have to find a new location. Both the gallery and your woman’s bowling alley burned down on the same night. All those paintings. All ash now.” I stopped smiling, though I still relished the pain on his face.
His fight had left him, so I motioned for my men to let him go. They did.
He didn’t try crawling away this time. He only watched me, his eyes blazing, ringed in agony.
“Think about that the next time you insist on threatening one of mine. Do you hear me?” There was a new burning in his depths. Yes. He got it. I could see it in his eyes.
I stood and motioned. “My men will give you a ride home, unless you want a trip to the hospital first. The Presbyterian, right? That’s considered ‘your hospital’?”
I didn’t wait for his answer, turning instead and motioning for my men to deal with him.
It was their turn now.
That’s how it went in wars like ours.
Chapter Eight
Blake
Seventh grade
