I don’t want to insinuate anything.
So, I straight out tell her.
Vas and my men laugh. She doesn’t. Neither does Drew, who looks like he is about to wet the bedsheets.
Tilting my head, I bring my gaze to him as I study him. He isn’t anything special. Average height. Average size. He remindsme more of an underdeveloped college freshman than a man. Then again, I could say that about anyone if I compare them to the hulking muscle standing around me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” It might sound demanding and strong if his voice didn’t waver like a little bitch.
“I want you to tell me about the money you’ve been shipping from the Middle East for Christian Ward.” Might as well get right to the chase.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, bitch.”
A low growl permeates the room and Drew’s eyes widen as my men take a threatening step toward him, their lips raised in a snarl. They don’t like him insulting their new boss.
“Do you know who I am?”
Taking his eyes off the surrounding men, he sneers. “I’ve heard about you,” he spits. “Christian Ward’s little whore.”
I smile at him, my eyes lighting up as I let out a small giggle.
Then I aim my gun and pull the trigger.
The girl behind him screams, jumping back as Drew howls in pain, clawing at his exploded kneecap.
The two men behind me share a quick glance, their eyebrows raised in surprise.
That’s right men, there’s a new Ava Dashkov in town. And she’s the fastest draw in the west.
I really need to get out of my head more.
Once his screams die down, I step forward, gun aimed at his other kneecap.
“My name is Avaleigh Dashkov,” I inform him calmly. His eyes widen at my last name, no doubt understanding the power behind it. The violence. “I’m the new boss in town and when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer. So, let’s try again, shall we? Tell me about the money you’ve been shipping from the Middle East for Christian.”
Without hesitating he curls his lips up in disgust, shoots me a hostile scowl, and hisses, “Fuck you.”
He screams.
The girl screams.
There goes the other kneecap.
“I could do this all day, Drew,” I tell him, shrugging a shoulder. “You either tell me what you want me to know, or the next bullet hits those family jewels.”
Crickets.
“Okay then…” I aim my gun, finger pulling at the trigger when he cries out for me to stop.
“Wait. Wait.” He covers his limp noodle dick with his hands. Not that he needs two hands to cover the little gherkin. “Look,” he swallows hard against the fear and pain, tears streaming down his face. “We spoof the ship port numbers, alright. But I don’t have anything to do with that. My company just provides the muscle and the containers. That’s it.”
“You expect me to believe that?” I chuckle mirthlessly.
“It’s true, I swear,” he pleads, a desperate feral look in his eyes.
“How did you get in business with Christian?” That is a fairly simple question. I should have started with that one, he might still have both kneecaps if that were the case.
Not as fun though.
