Page 53 of Guilty as Sin

But there are other things I need to do first. So many ways I can hurt Seven where that greedy posh boy will feel it the most. Before I physically destroy him. At the end of the day, he’s a businessman. We all are.

I get up close to the prisoner’s face in case Liam’s listening in.

“Seven’s warehouse in West Park. Tell me what you know about it.”

My brother doesn’t need to be informed about the warehouse just yet. I’ve been considering acting alone on this one. A way to test out my skills I discovered the other night. I was good at setting men on fire, but a one-time success could be a fluke.

“I dunno,” the prisoner sobs. “I dunno about a warehouse, he just hires me for odd jobs.”

“Odd jobs like raping and mutilating my wife?”

“Y-yes.”

“Wrong answer.”

I leave the interrogation room and open the tool cabinet. Liam looks up from his game but says nothing. I select a large saw and a tire iron, then return to finish the skinhead.

I shake the saw at him. His eyes go wide at the metal thunderclap sound. I let his imagination do its job as I set to work behind him.

I saw off the back of his chair, but keep his wrists tied to the wooden arms. He whimpers pathetically as I exchange the saw for the tire iron. My body is shaking with rage. I have to force myself back to calm. Steady. I stand behind the skinhead and line up my shot.

When I swing, I connect with his spine. Right where he hurt my wife. I swing again and again until I hear his backbone snap.

Then I give him a single blow to the back of the head, finishing Cora’s handiwork.

Chapter 24

Cora

I towel myself dry in my husband’s magnificent bathroom. Though I consider returning to his office naked, when I spy my clothes folded neatly on the counter for me, I decide to put them back on.

It ends up being the right decision.

I emerge through the bookshelf door to find that Brady isn’t in his office. Instead, it’s Finn who’s lying on the couch, tossing a baseball into the air above his head. He catches it with a smack against his palm, then tosses it up again.

“Where’s—”

“Not here,” he says, toward the ceiling.

“Got that, thanks. So where exactly is he?”

“Not. Here.” Finn catches the baseball and swings himself upright to finally look at me.

He doesn’t look good. He’s sallow and exhausted, with circles under his eyes from what must’ve been a long night.

“Thank you, by the way,” I tell him, and I mean it. “For defending me last night.”

For a moment Finn’s caught off guard. Then he’s back to scowling at me.

“He left you a note,” he says, nodding toward Brady’s desk. Warily, I pick up the note my husband wrote for me.

Family dinner tonight at the pub. The dress you’re wearing is perfect. Be a good girl and wear nothing beneath. -B

My cheeks go red hot.

“Did you read this?” I ask Finn.

“What my brother writes to his liability of a wife is none of my concern.”