He grimaces. “Gone. Every brick. Cleaned out.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. It’s not a nice sound.
“So,” I say, closing the file with a soft thud, “not only are they stealing from our books, they’re now hitting our warehouses and walking out with our product.”
Rafe straightens. “We’re treating it as an act of war.”
“Oh, it’s worse than war.” I stand and then button my jacket. “It’s disrespect. I need to tell my uncle.”
Rafe’s gaze sharpens. “You want to pay our guest another visit first?”
I smile, all teeth. “He and I do have some unfinished quality time scheduled.”
I step away from the desk, feeling the old, familiar heat of violence rise.
This is going to be fun. Last time, I had nothing to lead with. Now I do . . .
I jerk my chin toward the door. “Let’s go see if our friend has found a sense of self-preservation yet.”
Rafe falls into step beside me as we head down the hall.
“Just a reminder,” he mumbles, half under his breath, “you told Vin you’d try not to kill him before he talks.”
“I recall making no such promise,” I answer, amused. “But I’ll do my best. Think of this as . . . anger management.”
“You should try yoga,” Rafe grunts.
“I prefer hobbies that make my blood pressure rise.”
Together, we head to my car and leave for the warehouse.
When we arrive thirty minutes later, we step out of the car and walk toward the building.
We push through the metal door, and the moment we do, the air changes to that familiar cocktail of concrete and blood.
In the back room, our little problem is still zip-tied to a chair. He looks like shit with a swollen eye and split lip. The arm of his shirt is still red with the blood from my stabbing.
I’m surprised he hasn’t died yet, but alas . . . soon.
He blinks when he sees me, then swallows. He knows his days are numbered.
“Look who’s awake,” I croon, strolling in. “I was starting to worry you’d sleep through all the fun.”
His breathing picks up. Good. I enjoy his panic. It brings me joy.
Rafe takes up a position against the wall, arms crossed, watching like a man at the movies.
I circle the chair once, slow, boots echoing on the concrete. The man’s shoulders tense with every step I take behind him.
“Bad news,” I say lightly. “The situation has escalated.”
His body trembles. “I told you everything I know.”
“You told me nothing,” I correct, stopping in front of him. “You passed out, which is frankly rude when someone is taking such an interest in you.”
This time, he flinches.
I tilt my head, studying his face. “See, I was willing to believe you were just a petty thief with a death wish. But it turns outyou’re part of something bigger.” I lean in, smiling. “You’re not special, by the way. Just more of a problem.”
