I can see the tension on their faces as I tighten the lapels of my peacoat around me. The temperature has dropped since I left the restaurant. Asva stands on my left and Alrick on my right as we make our way inside the warehouse.
“The guards came under siege,” Asva reports, anger lacing his voice. “Most of the men were able to escape harm.”
“Cops?”
“It’s been handled,” Alrick says. “The residents are keeping their mouths shut, and the O’Connors have already been in touch. They want to meet as soon as possible.”
“Shit!” I run my hand through my hair. “How many dead?”
“Ten of our men.”
“Their families?” I ask, trying to keep the anger and sadness out of my voice.
The families will need to be notified about their deaths. Every man who works for me is aware of the risk of not returning home, but it doesn’t lessen the impact when it actually happens. But for their ultimate sacrifice, their families will never want for anything as long as they live.
“They’re being notified as we speak,” Alrick says.
I nod. I’ll have to visit each one in the next coming days as they plan the funerals because that’s what the leader of the family does.
“Once everything is set with dates for funerals, I’ll go see the families, give them my condolences, and the first installment of their death benefits. How many of my father’s men are dead?” I ask, rage building in me as I think of the sacrifice of good men because Olan doesn’t want to understand that his time leading the Larsson Syndicate is over.
I have no doubt my father is behind this attack. I expected him to make his move sooner rather than later. I should have been more prepared than I was. He’s trying to cripple me before taking me out, but this will be the last time I underestimate him. He will finally learn why they call me Beast.
“Olan lost fifteen,” Asva says.
Red clouds my vision, and I stop in my tracks when we make it through the steel doors of the warehouse. The concrete floors are covered in blood, dead bodies riddled with bullet holes and spent shell casings. Some crates are flipped over and broken.Others are peppered with bullet holes, and brain matter is splattered on others.
“We captured two running out the back,” Asva says as I survey the room, thinking of all the ways I’m going to torture anyone who had anything to do with this. “They’re in the coolers.”
I give a nod as I walk toward the freezers. “How much merchandise did we lose?”
“We can’t tell yet, Beast,” Alrick says. “I’ve called in extra help to go through the inventory. We should have an exact count by tomorrow morning.”
By the look of the damage, he’s cost me tens of thousands of dollars.
When we finally reach the coolers, an overwhelming rage consumes me. With a firm grip, Asva pulls the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. I step in, followed closely by Alrick and Asva, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the space. In the center of the room, two men are tied to chairs, their faces filled with fear and uncertainty.
There’s no trace left of the supplies the Irish once stored in here. However, the drain in the center of the floor is quite useful. It makes the cleanup of bodily fluids a breeze.
“Who do we have here?”
I circle both men as they remain quiet. They’ve been stripped of all their clothing and are shivering uncontrollably in the bone-chilling temperatures. I hope they understand that their torment is far from over.
“Who sent you?” I ask.
There’s no way any of my other enemies would dare attack me. Although they hate me, they’re scared shitless of the reputation I’ve built for myself as the cruelest man in the underworld. Now, these two will see how cruel I can be.
Both men maintain their silence, but their eyes reveal so much hatred and fear. I crack my neck. I haven’t had the chance to inflict pain on anyone in quite some time, and now, the monster inside me is itching to get out.
I retrieve a pocketknife from the inner pocket of my suit jacket prior to removing it. I throw the blazer to Asva, roll up my sleeves, and then remove the four-inch blade from its holder. “It’s not wise of either of you not to answer my questions, gentlemen.”
I run my thumb along the sharp edge of the blade, feeling a slight sting as a tiny drop of blood trickles out of the small slit in my skin. With my thumb pressed against my lips, I drink in the taste of my own blood before locking eyes with the two men.
“I’ve earned my name.”
“You’re nothing but the bastard son of a whore!” one of the men sneers with a thick Swedish accent. “No one is afraid of you!”
His voice drips with anger and hate. Most of my father’s men hate me because my father made sure that everyone believed I was nothing. However, I made something of myself while they were still fighting and scrapping to crawl up the ranks. But if they’d simply gone along with the transition and did not remain loyal to Olan, their lives and their families’ lives would have been so much better. Now, they have to die. And for what? For the ego of a man who cannot and will not ever admit defeat. Only his death will mark the end of the conflict between us.
