Page 136 of Cruel Throne


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He shakes his head, breathing rough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I glance at Rafe. “You hear that? He doesn’t know.”

Rafe lifts a shoulder. “Maybe he suffers from sudden, acute memory loss.”

“Tragic,” I sigh.

I plant my hands on the back of the chair and lean forward, bringing my mouth beside the man’s ear.

“One of our warehouses was hit,” I tell him. “Product stolen. Men attacked. At the same time, you’ve been skimming from our accounts. That seems like a lot of coincidence for one scrawny idiot, doesn’t it?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m just middle. I swear. I’m nobody.”

“Then give me somebody,” I reply, fingers digging just a little into the chair. “Give me a name and walk out of here with all your limbs intact.”

He licks his lips. “They’ll kill me.”

“They,” I echo. “There is a ‘they.’ Progress.”

“I can’t,” he whispers.

I straighten, sighing dramatically. “I always appreciate when people make bad choices. It keeps my hobbies funded.”

I nod at Vin, who’s standing by a workbench.

Vin moves forward and drops a small bag of tools on the floor beside me. The clatter makes the man jolt so hard he nearly tips the chair.

He stares at the bag like it’s a live grenade.

“Relax,” I say, crouching to unzip it. “I’m not going to do anything too terrible. Yet.” I glance up at him. “I mean, relatively speaking. It’ll be horrible for you, obviously. Perspective is everything.”

I pull out a length of rubber hose and slap it lightly against my palm, considering.

Rafe groans quietly. “Not the hose.”

“You have a better idea?” I lift a brow.

“Not really.” He shrugs.

“You’re no help.” I step around the chair, and the guy tries to twist away, like there’s anywhere to go.

“Okay. Let’s try this again.” I swirl the hose. “Who are you working for?”

He clamps his jaw shut.

Disappointing.

And also, very predictable.

Boring . . .

The first strike lands across his thighs, jarring his whole body with a crack that bounces off the concrete. He cries out, more from shock than pain.

That swing was mild at best.

A warning of sorts.

The next time, he won’t be as lucky.