Short of injecting him with a truth serum or dragging someone he loved in here and threatening them with unspeakable pain, I was at a loss. And since I didn't have access to shit like truth serums and I definitely wasn't down for torturing women and children, we'd reached an impasse.
Michael O'Rourke was Liam O'Rourke’s distant cousin, but it looked like Liam used him as a drugs mule and nothing more. Michael handled a small distribution network and answered to Patrick O'Rourke, who'd escaped in the carnage when our guys raided the Black Dog pub.
I'd have had more joy interrogating Patrick, who we knew for certain had Liam's ear, but after the botched raid, the fucker had left the country.
We'd all learned a lesson from that fuck-up.
My phone buzzed as Michael passed out again. When I glanced at it, Conal's name lit up the screen. It had to be urgent for him to interrupt my interrogation.
I threw a bucket of water over Michael, and he came round, coughing and spluttering.
"Good news, Micky, you can have a break before I cut another finger off!"
A faint whimper greeted my announcement before his head slumped forward, eyes closed. Damn. It looked like he might not last much longer.
Not a problem, since I didn't expect to learn anything more. My piggies would eat well tonight, which pleased me. Esmerelda and Petunia needed extra calories, as both were pregnant.
"What's up, bro? I'm kinda busy here," I grumbled when Conal picked up.
"Verity's gone and I can't get a trace on her."
"What?" That made no sense. Yes, she'd been upset because of Saoirse catching us in bed, but I'd told her not to worry. My sister would calm down, eventually. And if she didn't, she wouldn't get an invitation to our wedding.
I figured Pixie would like a summer wedding. Maybe if she was a good girl, I’d show her my Pinterest board. I’d spent a lot of time on ideas and shit.
"I went looking for her and when I couldn't find her, I checked the security footage. It showed her leaving the estate several hours ago. That stupid bastard, Carl, failed to stop her."
Carl was a new hire. A soon-to-be-dead hire. I dropped the phone, picked up the ax next to my work table and swung it in a wide circle. Michael's head hit the floor with a thump. Blood spattered all over my trousers and shirt, but I was too busy raging to care about the mess.
By the time I got my emotions under control, I could hear Conal yelling my name.
"I'll be back shortly," I spat, before killing the call.
If Pixie thought for one minute she could escape me, delusion was her middle name. When I told her she was mine, I fucking meant it. I'd track my bad Pixie down if it was the last thing I did. And when I found her, she'd get a lot more than an ass spanking.
I'd lock her in a room and fuck her so hard she'd never want to leave me again.
Ignoring the bloody severed head staring up at me with accusing eyes, I rolled my shoulders to release some tension. Declan's tech guy would find her, and if he couldn't, Dec could call Milo. Yeah, Thea would want our balls for breakfast for losing her sister, but that didn't matter right now.
All that mattered was finding my Pixie girl before anything happened to her.
I pocketed my phone and left the interrogation room. Carl could clean up the mess. It would serve the stupid fucker right for being a complete failure as a guard. Once he'd scraped all the body parts out of the drain, I'd add a few of his to the pig bucket.
I was a great believer in practical learning opportunities. In my experience, people rarely made the same mistake twice when the punishment involved losing a finger or two.
I found Conal pacing up and down in the kitchen when I arrived at the house. For once, he didn't bitch at my blood-soaked shirt or the questionable bodily substances stuck to my shoes.
"Tell me exactly what happened after I left." There had to be more to this than he’d let on. Pixie wouldn't leave over a stupid falling out with Saoirse.
"Saoirse and I talked, or rather she yelled at me while I did my best to stay calm. She showed me this." He shoved his phone in my face and I peered at the screen. "Why am I looking at an Instagram post? I don't need lifestyle tips, Con."
"Look closer," he snapped, so I grabbed the phone off him. The slightly blurry photo on-screen looked kind of familiar. Some hot dude, half-naked, lying in bed, asleep. Then it clicked.This was me.
My brow scrunched in confusion. Why was there a photo of me on some random chick's Instagram account?
I scanned the account info. It belonged to a ho called Anna, who called herself theGossip Queen.Hmm. She had 1.2 million followers, apparently. The text accompanying the photo claimed Anna had bedded me last week and rated me a 'five-star lay, would fuck again'. Unsurprising.
Of course I was a fucking five-star fuck! I'd devoted a lot of time and energy to perfecting my skills.
