“He might have a cyanide tooth,” I say with a shrug. Some guys do that, and if they’re captured, they bite the capsule and kill themselves.
Personally, that doesn’t sound like a fun way to go out. Seems kind of like the easy way, if you ask me.
I open the door and let Julian take the lead. My brother pushes his hands in his pockets as he crosses the room to where the asshole hangs, and in a flash, he has the other man’s mouth propped open and secures it with his switchblade so he can’t spit it out and won’t be able to swallow anything that might be in his mouth.
“This is great, except now he can’t answer questions,” I remind Julian.
“Sure he can. He can nod.” Julian rolls back on his heels. “Let’s start with this. Are you Albanian?”
We killed the head of their faction after they took out my men, but we didn’t get all the soldiers.
This motherfucker doesn’t answer.
So, I punch him in the kidney.
With a whimper, he nods.
“Good. That wasn’t hard.”
I wipe my thumb over my lower lip, letting the quiet settle in. It always makes them nervous when it’s too quiet and we just stare at them.
Finally, I ask, “Was Violet your target?”
He shrugs.
“Would either one have done the job?” Julian asks.
He nods.
“So, not specific to Violet, just specific tous,” I say, and Julian nods, and I turn back to the man. “Because of the warehouse?”
He nods again.
And I saunter over to get my blowtorch.
Twenty-Nine
VIOLET
“We can get going on this first thing tomorrow,” Cliff, the head of construction, says with a nod. I’m standing in my new tattoo studio with Cliff and MaryBeth, the decorator, and we’ve just finished touring through the space. “Mr. Cabrera wants it done ASAP.”
I’m still shocked that Mateo insisted on all state-of-the-art equipment that MaryBeth has planned, although it shouldn’t surprise me at all. I’ll have tables that fold into chairs. I’ll have stuff that I’ve only ever dreamed of at trade shows.
This studio is going to be everything I’ve ever wanted but never dared hope for, and it’s all thanks to a man that claims he’s the bad guy.
“I want half walls between stations,” I inform them. “But it would be cool if we could have folding glass windows to pull closed in case the client wants to speak privately or play music. Things like that.”
“I think that’s an awesome idea,” MaryBeth says, nodding. “In fact, they could be garage doors that come down to the half wall, and it would make it look so edgy and industrial. Thoughts on that?”
I purse my lips and tap my finger to them. “Well, we’re going to work with a lot of women, and all of the artists here will be women. So, let’s do those accordion-style windows and make it look clean and modern with just a touch of edge?”
MaryBeth smiles, writing notes on her iPad. “I know exactly what you mean. It’ll be gorgeous, functional, and cool.”
I’m totally nerding out over everything happening today. We spend hours going over every single inch of the space. Cliff takes measurements, MaryBeth takes photos, and once Cliff leaves, MaryBeth and I spend time looking at paint swatches and browsing online for lighting, flooring, and everything in between.
I walk her to the door, and she shakes my hand with a kind smile.
“This is going to be amazing,” she says. “And I’ll definitely be one of your customers. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
