My jaw tightens.
Rafe watches me carefully, trying to assess if I’m going to kill this guy. “Basement door.”
I follow his gaze to a door half-hidden behind a coatrack.
A faint sound can be heard, but it doesn’t sound like Victoria. I won’t know until we go down to check.
We descend, Rafe holding the man as a shield as we head down to the lower level.
Behind a table that’s filled with drugs and a scale sits a man who looks to be in his early twenties.
Fuck.
This is him.
The bastard we’ve been searching for.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He drops the razor blade. “You’re the Amante bastard.”
I raise my gun. “I’m really not in the mood for your shit. We can do this the easy way . . . you tell me where she is, and I shoot you. Or you don’t, and I torture you . . . and you tell me where she is anyway.”
He flinches.
I lean in. “Where is she?”
His eyes flicker. “Who?”
“Got it. Torture.” I move until I’m right beside him, reaching out until the tip of my gun drags down his jaw. “I can easily shoot different places that won’t kill you, and then after, I’ll take my fucking blade and find each bullet inside you. I like to keep my trophies. Want to try again? Where’s Victoria?”
His throat works. “I don’t have her.”
“As I said before, you’re dying anyway. I know you’re the one hitting my uncle’s inventory, so how are we going to do this?” I reply.
I keep my gaze on the man. “Well?”
“Fuck you.” He spits near my boots. “Your uncle’s old. I was just trimming fat.”
Rafe’s mouth quirks. “Trimming fat? Cute.”
I gesture for Rafe to back me. He nods before shooting the human shield in his arms and then pinning his gun on Connor.
I slide the gun in my waistband before pulling out my knife.
“Tell me where she is.” I crouch closer, keeping my voice low.
“I don’t have her.”
“The hard way . . . got it.” I place the tip of the knife on his neck, then slice down the skin. The cut is deep enough to bleed, but I make sure to miss all the crucial spots.
The man laughs weakly, blood dripping down the path I made. “You think you scare me?”
I tilt my head. “No.” This time, I stab the blade into his upper arm, then yank the knife free with a slow pull.
His breath jerks out, and sweat beads at his hairline.
I straighten slightly, letting the silence stretch. “While you were taking swings at my uncle’s business, someone took something that is mine.”
His eyes flicker, but he doesn’t speak.
