Right now, we needed answers, and as much as I didn’t enjoy torturing another man, the future of the Company could hinge on this information. I had a nice job that paid well, and I wasn’t going to let it all go to hell.
I shoved the phone in my trousers pocket and crouched in front of the Cartel man. I grabbed his face between my hands. “Where are yer buddies holed up?”
His mouth twisted and he spat venomous words at me that I couldn’t understand because they were in Spanish. I waited until he was done, ignoring the phone buzzing with another message.
“If ye don’t tell us, we’ll make this a bloody lot worse than it needs to be.”
More Spanish and no answers.
I sighed and stood, stretching my back. This was going to be a long day. With little sleep and a high amount of tension, my patience was thin. God would forgive me for what I was about to do. I wished Father Shay was still around, but after he’d gone missing, I hadn’t been back to the church. There’d been no priest quite like him, and I doubted I would find one in those fools who were left. They’d always given Father Shay hell.
I took out my phone and read the message.
Aspen: What happened? Is everyone okay?
I sighed and typed.
Rowen: Long story. The boys are good. It’s the Company. Busy right now. Call you later?
When? I didn’t know. This shitefest wouldn’t be over within a week, let alone a few months. The danger was only beginning.
Aspen: Going out to deal with the Cartel, too. Will call you after we take care of stuff.
I sent him a thumbs-up as a response.
Ten or so minutes later, Fallon came into the room dressed in only his suit trousers again, leaving his chest bare except for his insulin pump, which he had hooked on his belt. I didn’t know when he’d decided to get rid of his shirt, but I wasn’t going to complain. He was a dream to stare at, a fantasy come to life, and it was difficult to tear my eyes away from him.
“Aspen messaged me,” Fallon said, and I nodded.
“Me too. Did ye tell him what happened?”
He shrugged. “Only that Fionn was shot.”
“That’s all he needs to know. We don’t want them coming home until they’ve been told to.” I waved my hand at our guest. “Ye want first go or shall I?”
Fallon crossed his arms, his muscles straining with the movement and making the veins in his biceps more prominent. Smirking, he said, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you get sweaty while working. Show me some of those skills you told me about.”
I chuckled and reached up to slip off my tie, then started on my shirt. One after another, the buttons popped free, and when I had the last one open, I slid the suit jacket and white shirt off my shoulders. “Okay. I’ll play yer wee game, but to do that, I need to match ye.”
He waved his hand at me and licked his lips. “You’re wasting time. I enjoy the sight of that sexy red chest hair.”
I snorted.
“Is this some sick fuck thing?” the Cartel man muttered, glaring at us. “You’re both disgusting pricks.” He bared his teeth. “I’m not telling you a thing, no matter how much you torture me. Fuckers.”
“Oh, he can speak English. Imagine that.” I winked at Fallon, who laughed. Turning to our prisoner, I slid my suit jacket and shirt off my arms and dropped them on the floor. I went over to the wardrobe and opened it, staring at the array of tools Cillian and Aspen liked to use. Taking a breath, I linked my fingers together in front of myself and bowed my head, saying a short prayer. I asked forgiveness for what I was about to do before murmuring “amen” and grabbing a pair of pliers from the collection.
I walked back over to the Cartel man and waved the tool at him.
His eyes widened and he quivered.
“Let’s start by taking some of yer teeth.” I grabbed his chin, and he yanked it out of my grasp, cursing me in Spanish. “Well, looks like all yer teeth are there, so I’m guessing ye haven’t had this happen before.” I grimaced. “This is gonna hurt. Fallon, help me open his mouth?”
Fallon moved quickly, taking a position behind our prisoner and digging his fingers into the man’s mouth. He struggled and tried to bite Fallon, but Fallon spread the prisoner’s lips in a way that the bastard couldn’t get at him.
I opened and closed the pliers in front of the bloke. “One last chance. Where are yer friends hiding in our city?”
He mumbled, and I was almost certain he’d said, “Fuck you, Irishman.”
