I hope I’ll stop slurring by the time he comes down here.
I shouldn’t like watching Dalton tie a man’s hands this much, because it awakens fantasies not meant for me. A wedding night treat though…?
The door from the club slams open.
Dalton jumps to his feet as if he’s ready to fight again, but it’s just Remo… and Aspen? Jesus fucking Christ. Does he have nothing better to do?
Aspen grins at us from ear to ear, red from all the booze he’s had. “I kissed one of the strippers!” he announces like it’s a badge of honor as he stumbles outside. Then his gaze lands on the caved-in face of the man Dalton ended, and he vomits.
Remo drags a hand over his face. “I told you to stay! You’re leaving your DNA everywhere.”
Aspen retches once more. “I’m fine, it’s just the booze. I wanted to see the action.”
The sight of puke instantly gets to me, and I cover my face with my fist, looking away.
Remo laughs. “Really, Corvus? You out of all people are afraid of a little stomach juice?”
Somehow, those last few words make it worse, and I worrymyDNA will join Aspen’s on the damn ground.
“See? It’s not just me,” but then he turns to the one attacker still alive, “Why is this one tied?” my youngest cousin mumbles, finally back in control of his digestive tract.
I exhale and rub Dalton’s arm as my gaze drifts to the man I knocked out. The used syringe has fallen off him, so I pick it up, in case Remo’s people miss it during the cleanup.
“He’s going with us. He willtalk.”
Chapter 26
Corvus
Ifapersonisproficient at something, having spectators apparently improves their performance. Works for professional athletes, actors, even torturers, but I’ve always hated having someone watch as I work on a body.
Corvus Van der Horn works alone, so nobody ever witnesses my failures, as rare as they are. But how can I tell Dalton to leave, when he’s saved my life tonight? The matter does involve him after all.
I take another sip of the cold brew I keep frozen into cubes for situations like this one, because it’s the middle of the night, and while I’m not slurring any longer, sobriety isn’t even on the horizon yet.
The work I do is messy and often leads to unsightly or… olfactorily unpleasant situations like the piss currently stinking up my workroom. Some stimulants can have this effect on people, particularly in situations where one’s life is threatened, and the ugly bastard in my chair has wet his pants.
Hardly the first person to do that here.
I’m very much desensitized to bodily functions, and Terry’s scream tells me I’m doing my job well. Because yes, he did give up his name quite easily. But Dalton stands in the corner with a hand over the bottom half of his face.
I’m sure he’s notsqueamish, but it’s one thing to hit someone, or even kill them in the heat of a fight, and to meticulously flay a pec showing no hint of emotion is quite another.
I doubt Dalton wants me to stop or feels sorry for the man who almost killed me, but I’m not surprised he’s pale, and I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to just leave me to it. It might even be endearing that he chose to stay.
Terry’s body shakes, shock setting in before I reach into the open jar and toss a handful of salt on the exposed flesh.
It’s ugly business, but someone has to do it.
Terry lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scream and a gurgle, and thrashes uselessly against the cuffs and straps holding him in place.
“I know, I know,” I tell him gently, so he knows I don’t want to do any of it and will relent as soon as he tells me what I want to know. “You have the power to put an end to this at any moment.”
“But I don’t know!” He cries, head lolling from side to side as snot, tears, and drool drip from his chin.
I hum, pretending to give it some thought as I trail the tip of my gloved finger over the raw salted flesh on show. “You don’t know who you work for… That really doesn’t make any sense, does it? How would you get paid?”
There are ways, but I’m not here to make up stories for him.
