“What?” he snarls.
I pull my hands away from my face and smile again.
“Don’t worry.” I toss the pictures back into my bag and exchange them for a set of brass knuckles instead. “We’ve moved past them. Long gone, they are.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?” he asks, eyeing the metal glint against my hand.
“I’ve got a different name for you,” I tell him. “One that you should without a doubt remember. Let’s try Coco.”
He blinks and tries to maintain his cool, but his dick is twitching and growing at even the memory of it. Sick fucking bastard.
“Doesn’t ring any bells?” I frown.
“Nope, sorry,” he says. “Don’t know any fucking Coco.”
“Ah, well allow me to refresh your memory. You left the bar with her last week. Petite, black hair, big tits. She’s a beauty. Or at least she was until you broke her nose.”
He opens his mouth to protest, and I put a finger in front of my lips and shake my head.
“You like it rough.” I shrug. “You get off on it. Sometimes, things just get out of hand. Believe me, I get it. You can’t help yourself.”
His black eyes are boring right through me.
“The bad news for you,” I say finally. “Is neither can I.”
Trust fund Teddy bears the brunt of all his peers evil misdeeds.
The wild beating of my heart is its own war cry. The soundtrack to my savagery. The drum beat of rage as I fuck up his face and dole out my hatred. I don’t need words for this. Communication is best served primitive, in cases like this.
“Stop,” he begs. “Stop and I’ll fucking tell you.”
He broke faster than I’d hoped, but I give it a rest and take a breath.
“Get on with it then,” I tell him calmly.
Words spew from his lips like a cloud of CO2. I’ve uncorked him, and there’s no stopping it now.
“Duke has a mistress he keeps in the apartment next door. His wife has no fucking clue. And Quinn’s got a gambling problem. He’s up to his eyeballs in debt and his clients have no idea that their money is fucking gone. They meet up once a month and have ragers on the cape. Fuck as many prostitutes as they can and get fucked up on high end pills and booze.”
This is not news to me. It’s predictable at best, stale at worst.
“What else?” I demand.
Teddy is quiet until I take another step towards him.
“Ethan,” he mumbles through his bloody lips. “He got jacked up on coke one night and started talking about some missing girl.”
The room is still and silent and now Teddy is finally getting somewhere. Now, he’s got my full attention.
“What about her?”
“He kept saying she was dead.” Teddy shakes his head like he doesn’t believe it. And I almost feel sorry that he was born so ignorant. “Something about the woods. How Alexander fucked her up.”
Bingo.
Teddy doesn’t see me smile when he mentions Alexander, and I’m glad.
“Tell me everything he said,” I insist.
