He scrambles backward on the floor, palms slipping. “This ain’t nothing to do with the Demons, bro! I swear––”
“I know.” I hook his ankle and drag him back like dead weight. “I’m not here for the coke.” I drop into a crouch, my voice dropping lower, darker. “I’m here about Remi.”
His eyes flicker, confusion creasing his brow. “Remi?”
“Cute little thing. Brown hair. Yea high.” I lift my hand to mark her height, my glare never breaking. “The last time you saw her, she was asleep on Roxy’s couch.”
Recognition hits. He pales, all colour draining. “Hey, she . . . she started it.”
“She was asleep.” My voice is sharp.
“She didn’t say no––”
My fist slams into the wall beside his head, rattling plaster and making him flinch.
“She. Was. Asleep.”
“She was up for it, I swear.”
The words make my blood boil. I inhale deep, steadying myself before climbing over him. His eyes widen in confusion as I shove his shirt up. The scrape of steel rings out as I pull my knife free.
He thrashes instantly.
“Listen,” I snarl, smashing my fist across his jaw. His head snaps sideways, blood spraying. He’s trembling, chest heaving like a trapped animal.
“Lay here and take it,” I growl, pressing the knife tip into his skin until it dimples, “or I’ll kill you.”
Terror fills his gaze. His breath comes in ragged bursts, too fast, too loud.
“Now,” I drag the edge just enough to break skin, crimson beading, “do you need something to bite down on?”
He shakes his head frantically.
“Good. Then hold still.”
I etch the blade into his pale stomach, scratching slow, deliberate curves. He whimpers, tears streaking down into the dirt.
“I’m gonna ask again, Dean,” I hiss. “Who the fuck are you cutting for?”
“The Steels,” he chokes, the word breaking on a sob.
“Shame.” I straighten, shrugging like it’s nothing, admiring the fresh red letters carved into his flesh. “This day is about to get so much worse for you.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice cuts the air like a gunshot.
I whip around. Remi stands in the doorway, helmet still on, visor down, just like I instructed. The sound is muffled, but I’d know that voice anywhere.
Fuck.
“What are you doing?” she repeats, stepping closer.
“Out,” I bark, harsher than I mean to. “Now.”
Her chin tips up defiantly beneath the helmet. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell this is.”
Behind me, the guy whimpers, blood seeping into the floorboards, the carved letters across his stomach raw and red. I can smell the copper in the air.
“Is that . . .” She peers closer. “Jesus, what the fuck have you done?”
