Returning my attention to my guest, I grab his hand and rip off one of his nails. “Last chance,” I say again, voice soft now. “Who? Or do I need to rip off each one . . .”
After a long, ragged pause, he croaks, “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”
My brows lift. “Oh? So there is a ‘far.’” I lean in, voice velvet over steel. “Keep going.”
“I-I can’t.”
I bring my mouth close to his ear, the words sliding in like poison. “You will.”
He opens his mouth—finally about to do something intelligent—
And passes out.
I stare at his limp body.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “I only stabbed him once. What the fuck.”
Rafe shrugs. “He’s breathing at least. Better luck next time?”
“But you know how much I hate waiting.”
Rafe gestures toward a bucket of water sitting nearby. He came prepared for my personality. “You want us to wake him?”
“No,” I decide, straightening and rolling my shoulders. “Not yet.” I flick a look at the rat. “Let him dream. Maybe his subconscious is braver than he is.”
Rafe’s eyes narrow. “There’s more . . .”
I glance over.
He steps closer, voice dropping into business—into war. “The skimming wasn’t isolated. Money’s being funneled offshore. Multiple accounts. Layers and proxies.”
“Someone’s making a play.” The familiar edge of war sharpens inside me, bright and clean. Better than lust. Better than regret.
Rafe nods once. “Someone with reach.”
I smile slowly. “Good. I’ve been bored.”
Two men drag the unconscious idiot away, boots scraping, chains clinking.
I stand alone for a moment, breathing in the cold warehouse air, letting the violence settle under my skin like ink.
And because life enjoys humiliating me, Victoria’s face flashes behind my eyes anyway.
Her voice. Her rage.
I shove it down viciously.
Not now.
War first.
I need my uncle on my side and busy; that way he won’t interfere with my marital bliss. Solid plan. Hopefully, we can find out who put the scumbag up to stealing from us.
I walk toward the steel exit door, my boots echoing like a countdown to someone’s funeral.
“Find me names,” I warn, not looking back. “Not theories. Names.”
“You’ll get them,” Rafe replies.
