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The guy behind the desk reaches a shaking hand toward his phone.
“You touch that and I’ll break your fingers.”
He slips his hand beneath the desk and I sit opposite him. “Are you the owner of this place? Mason Michaelson?”
He eyes me suspiciously but nods. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I need some information is all. Give it to me and you might get home to Nyla, little Neveah, and Mason junior later.”
His face turns a deathly shade of white, and I suppress the urge to smile. He doesn’t need to know that I’d never go after his wife and kids. “W-what information?”
“You used to run transport for Oscar Lang.”
His lip trembles at the mention of that name. “I d-didn’t know w-what—”
I tilt my head to the side. “You didn’t know he was transporting innocent women and children who’d been kidnapped to order? No?”
He shakes his head vigorously. “I swear I didn’t.”
Leaning forward, I grab hold of his tie and pull him across the desk, so close that I smell the coffee on his breath. “I don’t fucking believe you, Mason, because you would have to be real stupid to be involved in that kind of shit and not know about it.” This is a big yard with a lot of trucks outside, and he lives in a gated six-bedroom house with a pool. “And you don’t strike me a stupid man. So, you’re a liar or you’re thicker than pig shit. Which is it?”
Tears fill his eyes. “I swear I didn’t know, not at first.” He sniffles. Piece of shit.
I let go of his tie, but my other hand balls into a fist at my side. “And when you found out?”
“I couldn’t get out. These were some heavy-duty people involved. I couldn’t just walk away. I was implicated. If this had ever gotten out…” He leans close and whispers, “I have a family.”
“So did all the people you trafficked, fuckface!” I shout.
He flinches. “You said you wanted information.”
I already have this guy figured out. He’s a coward and a snake and will do anything to save his own skin, which is about to make my job a whole lot easier. As much as I’d love to tie him up and torture him for his part in the whole twisted operation we’re uncovering, even let Keres take a crack at him, we don’t have the time. We need to get out of here and get Mia back as quickly as possible. “Oscar Lang had a business partner. Nobody seems to know who the hell he is. I think you do though, Mason.”
He licks his lips. “He had a few business partners.”
“I know that. But this was the guy who coordinated the whole fucked-up shitshow with him. I need a name.”
His Adam’s apple bobs.
“I can start breaking bones until you talk.”
“Theo Wynn,” he blurts. “He was Oscar’s business partner.”
Bingo. “You have any more information? Address? Contact number?”
“No.”
The look on my face must communicate how much I dislike that answer because he holds up his hands and grimaces. “I swear I’d give it to you if I did. I have no loyalty to Wynn, but he was like a ghost. I only ever met him once. He creeped me the fuck out. I don’t even know what he looked like. He wore a mask.”
“What kind of fucking mask?”
“A Jason one, you know like from that movie? Like the kids wear for Halloween.”
I plant my hands on the desk, my eyes narrowed as I search his face for a hint that he’s holding back on me. “You must have something else on this guy. Bank account details. Anything.”
“I don’t. They only paid in cash. I swear that’s all I know.”
My nostrils flare. A name is better than what we had five minutes ago. Nathan’s hacker can get us something with a name. And I can always come back and torture this piece of shit for more information if I need to.
