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I pull Frances up to his feet and take a knife out of my sock. Smirking, I hand it to him. “Go ahead and fight back.”
Frances’ dark eyes glitter as he swipes, missing my side by a few inches. I raise an eyebrow, duck, and land a punch to his ribs. He wheezes and then spins around to face me. Frances manages a small swipe to my arm, but before the first drop falls onto the floor, I have him in a chokehold. He bucks and writhes, and we spin in a circle.
My ears are ringing now as I release Frances, and he lunges at me.
Without missing a beat, I kick the knife out of his hand, and it falls to the floor with a clatter. “You really are a pathetic and sad little fucker.”
Frances twists his head to the side and spits out a mouthful of blood. “And you’re a psychopathic bully with a long trail of bodies.”
I throw another punch, and Frances doubles over. “At least I’m man enough to do it myself. You’re here in a jail cell because you don’t have the balls to do what needs to be done.”
Frances uses the back of his hand to wipe away the mixture of blood and sweat. “And how is that working out for you, huh? How do you think your precious little Isabella is going to feel when she finds out what you’ve done?”
I have Frances up against the wall before the words finish leaving his lips. “You’re a dead man walking, you piece of shit. Do you really want to make this worse for yourself?”
Frances draws his lips back to reveal bloodied and yellowed teeth. “How do you think your kid is going to feel when he’s old enough to know the truth about you? That poor bastard is better off on the street than with a man like you.”
I’m pummeling Frances so hard that I don’t even realize we’re on the floor until Ernesto pulls me back. He places both hands under my armpits and helps me stand up. I’m still seeing red, and even though there is blood everywhere and Frances’ face is disfigured, it doesn’t quell the rage still burning inside of me.
It’s consuming me whole, and I have to punch the wall a few times to get it out of my system.
By the time I’m done, Frances has crawled away from me and is pressed against the wall. He has snot, blood, and sweat running down the sides of his face and all over his clothes. I wipe my bloody knuckles against the sides of my pants and straighten my back. Ernesto hands me a napkin, and I take my time, my eyes never leaving Frances.
He is trembling all over and sputtering incoherently.
“At least pull yourself together,” I tell him with disgust. Ernesto hands me the jacket, and I pull it back on. “What did you think was going to happen when you reached out to Lilian, huh?”
Frances’ face pales further, and he links his fingers together. “Please, I—”
I hold a hand up. “Save it. I’ve kept you alive this long before you were useful. Now, you’re not useful anymore, and there’s nothing I like less than a two-timing snake.”
Frances crawls forward, making a mess all over the floor. “I’ll do anything.”
I’m unmoved by his pleas as he latches onto my pant leg and tugs.
When I glance over at Ernesto, he has straightened up and has his fists clenched at his sides. “Even though you don’t deserve it, I’m going to make sure it doesn’t hurt too much. For old times’ sake.”
Frances is still a blubbering mess when I push the door open and step outside.
A few moments later, Ernesto comes back out, Frances’ sputtering pleas still reverberating inside of our head. Ernesto gives me a quick look before gesturing to the nearest guard. After a quick conversation, Ernesto’s hand darts out, and I can almost see him slip a wad of cash into the man’s jacket.
As soon as he’s done, Ernesto walks back over to me and nods. “Where to next, boss?”
“I think it’s time the mayor and I have a chat in person.”
***
At the mayor’s office, another security guard crumples into a heap on the floor, and I step over him. He makes a low sputtering sound as I wipe my bloodied knuckles on a tissue and glance over at Ernesto, who has another guard by the scruff of his neck. After landing another punch, Ernesto and I look around to make sure all the cameras are down.
Getting into the mayor’s office wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. But I know this isn’t going to be our only hiccup. Getting out is going to be a lot harder after I’m done with the mayor.
With a smile, I lift my leg up and give the door a firm kick. It emits a slight creaking sound, but it doesn’t budge. I kick it again, harder this time, and the wood cracks. My smile vanishes as I use all my strength to kick the door open, and it gives under the pressure, falling backward with a thud. As soon as it does, it sends dust and little splinters of wood in every direction.
Whistling, I step into the room and glance around, taking in the bookcases propped against the wall and a door leading into a connecting tile-floored bathroom. Finally, I settle on a rectangular-shaped mahogany desk with a window overlooking a park and Mayor Hughes standing behind it. He has a glass of whiskey in hand, and a few locks of hair have escaped his neat part.
When I notice the tremor in his free hand, he shifts to hide it behind his back. “Carter Blackthorne, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
I unfasten a button on my jacket and sit down. “It’s rude not to offer your guests a drink.”
