Page 11 of Ripple Effect: Ep. 1

“And his son?” I’m not getting paid to extract that information at this point. Lucien hired me to track down his kid’s killer, then Dorian took over and my orders changed. But, while I have him in front of me, why the fuck not? A thirteen-year-old kid dying sucks, and if I can kill two birds with one stone by ending this asshole, that makes me happy.

“I had … nothing to do with … the Bertrand kid. S’all I know.”

“I see.” I circle the chair and stop to the side of him. “What is Marchetti to you that you’d suffer so much for him?”

“No one.”

“You mean to tell me you’d suffer this shit for no one?”

He remains silent, his lips forming a tight line, as he stares up at me and it’s clear he has no intentions of telling me. Doesn’t matter. It’s not important anyway.

I reach out and take hold of the stake lodged in his knees, eyeing his upturned brows while I give a slight wiggle of the metal.

A groan of agony accompanies the distressed expression on his face, and he breaks into a sob. No doubt, his body is shutting down as the damage begins to consume him. “I told you … what you want. End this.”

“I’m not finished yet.” I cross my arms and pace in front of him. “These girls you pick up. The ones you sell. Where do they come from?”

“What girls?”

Shaking my head, I let out an exasperated breath. “Don’t make me pull the fucking bag of toys again, asshole. Your dipshit friend already gave me the goods on you and Caruso.”

His brows crinkle to a frown and his tongue sweeps across his cracked lips.

I’m bluffing, of course. All Accardi did was mention Frank Caruso, never said a word about any underground parties or girls. That was all information I’d already gathered on my own.

“They’re bought … that’s all I know. Frank … knows a guy.”

Always the same answer—this guy everyone seems to know must be a fucking ghost since no one’s actually seen him. “How’d you get into Spades with guns?”

“Guns inside ... al—” He coughs up a spattering of blood that dribbles down his chin and turns his head to the side to spit more on the concrete.

“How’d they get in there?”

“Don’t … ” Another cough throws his head back and under the harsh glare of the light I can see he doesn’t have much time left. “Know.”

“You don’t know how the guns got inside? You’re fucking lying to me, Matteo.”

“Kill … me.”

I crouch down beside him, and give him a small measure of respect when he doesn’t flinch, holding up the bullet between my fingers. “I carved my name on this bullet. Just for you. I’ll be the last thing that goes through your head.” The look of hopelessness and the pouty curve of his lip tugs laughter from my chest.

“Do it!” His voice carries on a slur of words and his head rolls on his shoulders as if he’s lost all muscle control in his neck.

“Tell me who brought the guns into the club. How’d they get into Spades?”

“No.”

“You want to die, Matteo?” My jaw aches with the clenching of my teeth. His lack of response has officially struck my no-bullshit limit, and I have no more patience for this bastard. Between the two of them, I’ve been in this musty, dingy basement far longer than I’d wanted and it’s wearing on me.

“Yes!”

“All you had to do was say so.” Pissed off, I lift the whole damn chair up off the floor and dump him into the vat of acid, jumping back as the liquid splashes over the edge and a small bit lands onto my steel-toe boots.

His screams echo through the building, over the sizzle of his skin, burning in the liquid. Within seconds, Rene slams through the door, a distraught expression crinkling his face as he scans the room, tucking his nose into his elbow. He’s a cousin of the Bertrand brothers, and my loyalty is supposed to extend to all members of the family, otherwise I can’t stand the little bastard.

“Awww fuck, man. What the fuck?”

I glance around at the body parts scattered about. “Dorian told me to cut loose.”