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“Tell me where you go when you’re not with Connor.”

“I always go out with Connor,” he says. A clever technical truth, since they do leave the house together. And unfortunately, it forces my hand. I was hoping not to have to reveal my surveillance.

“After you and Connor split up.” I cock my head at Rabbit. He shifts uncomfortably, as much as his tied hands and feet will allow.

“I get on the Red Line sometimes,” he admits.

I’m getting impatient. But for this, it’s best to act like I have all the time in the world. I lift the syringe to eye level and apply slight pressure to the plunger. A thin stream of bee venom shoots out in a satisfying arc. Rabbit quakes at the sight. Finally, he hangs his head.

“I have a girl at Northwestern,” he says, morose.

Fuck. I feel my jawline go cold. His story tracks. But that’s just it, I remind myself. A story.

“What’s her name?” I ask roughly.

But Rabbit shakes his head, his curls flying. Now my face goes hot. I want to pitch my voice threateningly low, but I need Brioni to hear every word through the speaker.

“What’s. Her. Name.”

“I’m not giving her up.” His voice cracks when he says it. “If I tell you her name, you’ll track her down, and— And scare her.”

I bark out a cruel laugh. He’s not entirely wrong. If this girl of his is real, we will track her down. But we won’t confront her without reason.

The fact that I’m laughing makes the kid harden his features. Damn if it doesn’t impress me that much more.

“If you don’t tell me her name,” I say, “I’m going to assume that she’s not your girl, but actually your contact for the Vanleusens.”

“The Vanleusens?” Rabbit’s face goes blank with shock. And fuck everything, it looks genuine.

“You’ve been going into Seven’s territory every night.” I state it as simple fact.

“To visit my girl,” he stresses. “Not to meet up with that fuckhead rich boy or any of his people. I’m an O’Sullivan man. I hate Seven as much as you do.”

This gets me to do a slow blink. But the kid does not back down. He holds himself as tall as he can, and I heave out a sigh.

“Her name,” I drawl, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not giving her up.”

“Wrong answer.”

I stand up, syringe in hand. In two strides, I’m in the kid’s face. Gripping his stupid golden curls, I jab the syringe into his pretty boy cheek. Per Finn’s recommendation, I don’t press down on the plunger. It’s a quick kiss of the needle, in and out.

But it’s enough.

Within seconds, the kid’s cheek starts swelling up, then his lips. They grow bright red and puffy, and they look itchy as hell.

“Her name,” I say. “What’s the name of your fucking Vanleusen contact?”

But the kid just shakes his head again. Growling in frustration, I pick up the EpiPen and hold it in his face. His eyes are reddening now, puffing up and ready to swell shut. But he recognizes the salvation an inch in front of his swollen face.

“Tell me her name and this all goes away.”

“C-can’t,” he chokes out. His throat must be tightening now too. He’s only a few seconds from having no air supply.

I’ll let him die if I have to.

Whether or not this kid is the leak, Brioni needs to witness what I’m capable of.