Cobb’s shoulders straightened. “Would you mind if I interviewed him before we get the paperwork going?”
Acres shook his head. “No problem. I’ll head down and get some coffee.” He glanced toward Denver. “You stay put.” Chortling at his own joke, he left the room in a slow lope.
Cobb made a production about shutting the door and then turning the chair around to straddle it. He’d probably have to kill that young cop, but he couldn’t wait to get started on Denver first. He’d figure out a way to frame Denver for the cop’s death, and then he’d be in the clear. But first things first. He was going to enjoy these moments. He’d earned them. “How’s the head?” He couldn’t help his smile.
Denver just looked at him, no expression on his face.
Cobb had forgotten the little shit could do that. Even as a youngster, the asshole could look right through him, even while being beaten with a police baton. The kid had definitely grown into his huge feet, and any sense of looking lost or innocent was absolutely gone. A killer looked back at Cobb, and he had to concentrate to keep from moving the chair back a foot.
Denver didn’t break eye contact, though the promise of death lingered in those eyes as if it just lived there daily.
Cobb swallowed. “You knew we’d end up here.”
The degenerate didn’t even twitch.
“I have your woman.” Those words would do it.
Nothing. No movement, no color in the face, no eyes widening. The fucker didn’t even blink.
“I don’t think you’re human,” Cobb snapped. How frustrating. He’d earned this moment, damn it, and the prick would give it to him. There had to be a way to reach inside Denver’s solid rock of a head and incite fear. Cobb was a man to be feared. Why wasn’t Denver showing the terror he must be feeling? Cobb gritted his teeth.
The machine—the one tracking Denver’s vitals—beeped slow and steady. Maybe he reallywasn’thuman. Who the hell knew what Isobel Madison had done while splicing and dicing genes and crap.
Cobb rested his elbows on the back of the chair. “Have you wondered about your genetics? If Isobel put in animal genes or something crazy like that when making you in petri dishes?” The idea was kind of gross. Maybe he shouldn’t let her create their own kid that way. But that was the only alternative. “I mean, you look like a pussy. Maybe you have kitty cat genes.”
Actually the man looked like one of Isobel’s killing machines. Denver had filled out in the years. Blankets covered his legs, but his bare chest was visible. Broad and wide. A lot of muscles. Definite strength and a history of killing.
Cobb wouldn’t be scared. Not in a million years. His hands started to sweat, even while chills slid down his spine. Maybe he was coming down with something.
He forced a smile—his mean one. “Still don’t talk much, huh?” Truth be told, that had always creeped him out. “That’s okay.” Reaching down, he pulled his favorite Smith & Wesson Survival Black camo knife from his boot. He lifted it to the light, and his dick hardened. “Isn’t this a beauty?”
No change from the bed or the monitors.
Cobb looked up, tilting his head to the side. Studying the man on the bed. “This knife is sharp enough to actually peel skin from a body.” His voice roughened, and he coughed to clear it. “I used it on a woman once. She was just a whore off the streets, and nobody missed her.” Then he leaned in. “Don’t tell Isobel. I don’t think she knows.” Maybe. It was possible she knew. The woman was frighteningly brilliant. His woman. “If I kill you, she’s gonna be so angry with me.” He looked forward to their fight. Angry makeup sex was one of their specialties.
“You’re not gonna kill me, Cobb.”
Cobb jumped and then tried to cover the movement by shifting his weight on the chair. “I knew I’d get you to speak again.” The kid’s voice had seriously deepened through the years, sounding low and rough. “I’m definitely going to kill you. And your brothers.”
If anything, Denver suddenly looked bored. “She has you on a leash, and she wants us alive.” He rolled his eyes, which were just as blue as they’d been decades ago. “We both know that bitch is in charge.”
Cobb’s head snapped up. Oh, he knew what Denver was trying to do. Even so. His blood started to pump faster. “She’s occupied with your lady and the baby right now.” He pushed back from the chair and stood, feeling better looking down from a higher height. “Even I got chills when I heard her plans for—what’s her name, Noni?” He lowered his voice. “No plans for the baby. She’s ordinary and expendable. Probably in a Dumpster right now somewhere.”
Those words should’ve gotten a response. Yet again, Denver revealed nothing. What kind of fucking self-control did a man have in order to remain calm with those threats hurled at him?
Cobb’s gut felt tight. The need, the basic urge, to plunge the knife into Denver’s chest made his hand tremble. “Apparently you don’t care.”
No response. With just one wrist handcuffed, he was still dangerous. Oh, Cobb had trained his entire life and could take him, but it wouldn’t do to be complacent. This was too important. He was smarter and stronger than Denver and his brothers. It was a fact, and it was okay he reminded himself of it. Isobel wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t the strongest. That was for sure.
Denver watched him. Quiet and waiting.
“Where are Ryker and Heath?” Cobb asked. He twirled the knife, getting ready to use it. Hopefully he’d get to take his time before Denver gave him the information he wanted. Then he was going to shove that knife through the killer’s throat. All the way to the hilt. “Tell me where they are, and this will be quick.”
“My brothers?” For the first time, Denver smiled. The look was feral.
Cobb swallowed rapidly. The younger man was cuffed securely. One swipe of the knife, and it’d be over. No matter how strong Denver might be. “They’re not your brothers.”
Denver’s vitals remained so steady it was a mockery. “Sure they are. Brothers are the best, right?” His eyebrows drew down. “You should know. You had one.”
