Page 14 of Antonio Miles

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s helping a lot. It was all there before, but the pictures of these guys… The ones I recognize have varying creep factors, but this is the evilest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He nodded once. “Then keep going. As long as it takes. As long as you need to.”

He stood, walked around the table, and stopped behind my chair. He rested his hand on my shoulder for one second, then let it drop.

I watched him leave, then looked at Darby. She had her feet back on the table, grinning at me. “You’re not what I expected,” she said.

“Neither are you.”

Darby grinned wider. “I think you’re starting to get it. Just remember reputation can only give you part of the picture.”

I looked back at the files spread out over the table. Denton’s face stared back at me. I wanted to remember it forever.

Darby drained her can and belched. “Well, shit,” she said. “Guess it’s time to ruin some lives.”

I smiled at that. For the first time in a long time, it felt real.

I took the whole mess back to my suite and spent the rest of the day reading through the documents Knight had put together. By the end of it, I needed to take a shower. I felt filthy by association, reading everything Veda had found on these guys, as well as new stuff Knight had found. It brought my whole ordeal back to the surface. I would never again be as helpless as I’d been while I’d been held captive. Never again.

An hour before dusk, I heard voices from the lower level. The cadence was sharp, then punctuated by a single short bark from Antonio, cutting everything off. I waited a count of ten, then opened the door at the end of the hall and made my way downstairs.

At the back of the living room, a door leading down a flight of stairs had been left open. The voices were quieter now, which made me think things had been rather rowdy when I’d first heard the commotion.

I went down the stairs which opened up into a large room, like the observers’ side of an interrogation room. A closed door separated one side from the other and what I assumed was one-way glass -- like in the movies -- showed the inhabitant of the other side of the room.

In the center of the smaller, separate room, a single chair sat bolted to the floor with what looked like a drain underneath.

Antonio stood in front of the glass. He didn’t acknowledge me, but I saw him in the reflection because he met my gaze and held it for a long moment. I glanced past him to see the person on the other side of the glass. The guy zip-tied to the chair was likely the man captured when Haven had been attacked. Kass stood against the wall next to Antonio, arms folded and face blank like he was supremely bored.

When Antonio finally spoke, he didn’t turn around. “You’re not getting any closer, Tessa,” he said. “You can watch from here, but you’re not going in that room.”

“Why?” The question popped out before I could censor it, but I refused to apologize. I wanted to know everything Antonio did. I had a right to because of the blood I’d paid.

Antonio didn’t bother to answer. Behind us, Kass’s voice came low and toneless. “He doesn’t want you to see what happens to men who cross him.” Kass kept his gaze on the man in the chair.

I ignored the warning. “He tried to kill me,” I said. “I don’t care what you do to him, but I want to hear what he says.”

Antonio didn’t move for a second. Then he made a small gesture at Kass, who opened the door to the cell. He and Antonio went inside, leaving me firmly on the wrong side of the door.

The man in the chair was in his late thirties, short hair shaved to stubble, athletic build gone to flab. His face was a mess -- both eyes purpled and swollen, nose broken or near enough, his lip split and bleeding. He wore tactical pants and a gray shirt, a logo on the pocket I couldn’t place. He looked up when Antonio entered, but there was nothing in his face except exhaustion and burning hatred.

Antonio took his time. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, sat on the edge of the table, and looked the man over. Kass watched, motionless. I realized the small speaker beside the window allowed the viewer to hear the conversation on the other side of the window.

“What’s your name?” Antonio asked, his voice slightly tinny coming through the speaker.

The man didn’t answer.

Antonio nodded at Kass. Kass reached into a crate in the corner of the room and withdrew a steel mallet. He set it on the table without a word.

The man in the chair stared at the mallet for a long moment. His mouth worked as he shook his head. “Quinn,” he said finally.

“Quinn what?”

“Jernigan.”

“Who sent you?”

“Job came in from Nashville. We get them occasionally and never communicate with the contact. Whoever it is contacts us.” Quinn still gave Antonio a look of hatred. I had no doubt Antonio could be in real trouble if he slipped the zip ties. The thought made my stomach knot, and I didn’t like the sensation one fucking bit.