Pain radiates along my side, but I grin and bear it, inhaling slowly through my nose.
Looking down the stitches aren’t pretty at all. It’s almost like he’s trying to be a dick. Wouldn’t put it past Rafe to want to give me the ugliest scar ever.
I incline my head down toward where he’s working. “Think you can try a little harder to keep it even? It looks like a two-year-old stitched me.”
“I think it adds character.”
He ties off the final knot.
I glance back down, not pretty but at least I won’t bleed out.
I pick my shirt back up but don’t put it on yet as I head back to Patrick.
“You know why you’re here?” I ask.
He shakes his head frantically.
“I need to find your boss.” I grab a metal chair and drag it across the concrete floor. Hurts like a bitch, but I push down the pain. Can’t show any weakness.
I sit in front of him.
Rafe stands beside my chair, arms folded, enjoying the show.
“I don’t know anything.”
I lean forward slightly. “You know where Doyle is…”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know—”
I backhand him.
Not hard enough to knock him out, just hard enough to make him reconsider lying to me.
“Try again.”
He coughs blood onto his shirt. “I don’t know—” he gasps.
I nod to Rafe, and then my gaze meets the pliers on the small cart he’s rolled in. If Patrick is going to play games, I’m all in.
Rafe hands me the pliers, and I step forward slowly just to be an asshole, then pull of his thumb nail.
Patrick lets out a scream.
The sound is music to my ears as I reach for his pointer. Then pull that one off.
By the time I’m with his whole right hand, he’s shaking so hard I think if the chair wasn’t screwed to the floor, it would topple over.
“You want to ship him back in pieces or send a message?” Rafe asks from beside me, eliciting another scream from our guest.
With that settled, I stand slowly. My side throbs. “Pieces.”
Rafe nods.
“Doyle. Doyle will lead you to him,” Patrick shouts as if his answer will save him. It won’t.
I smile faintly. “Good. Now kill him.”
“No—”
