“From me?” Salvatore asked.
Michael shook his head. “No, from him.”
“Why?” I questioned. This made no sense. If he was stealing the shipment to resell, that made sense. But to do something directly against me… why? Yes, I had enemies, but I knew of most of them.
Salvatore snickered beside me. “Seems you have someone out to get you, Lykos.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You want to have another go at him? Or should I?”
He flicked his knife over and over, his gaze locked on the man. “I’m game.”
I stepped back and watched with an indifferent expression as Salvatore got to work. He screamed and cried, and it took all of two seconds for Michael to cave.
“The Obsidian Society gave out a task,” he yelled, breathing heavily. “Ob-Obsidian Society.”
Salvatore and I shared a puzzled glance. “What the fuck is the Obsidian Society?”
“I don’t know,” Michael hissed, finding the energy to jerk against the ropes. “You fucking motherfuckers are all crazy!”
He thrashed against the ropes, the coarse material cutting into his wounds. More blood dripped onto the ground.
“You have no idea how crazy we are,” Salvatore said, shoving a knife into his ribs. “Now, explain to us… What’s this Obsidian Society?”
Michael coughed as Salvatore twisted the knife in his ribs, fighting to breathe through the pain.
“Stop,” he hissed, glaring at all of us.
“Give. Us. The. Answer,” I demanded, giving a signal to Salvatore to pull out the knife. The man wasn’t going to last if he kept putting holes in his body. Michael slumped, and I could tell we were finally getting somewhere. “Tell us what you know.”
“I don’t know much.” He sighed, exhaustion seeping from his voice.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Tell us what you know,” I demanded. “Why attack this ship?” I gripped his hair, making sure the handful was taut against his scalp.
“The rich and powerful own the Obsidian Society.” He coughed up some blood, then added, “They don’t get their hands dirty, hiding behind that organization. That’s all I know.”
“Then why have we never heard of it?” I asked. This sounded like a bunch of bullshit.
I drew my gun from its holster and held it loosely as I studied the man’s bloody face. “Give me the name of any member in this society. Anyone who’s involved, hmm?”
His eyes were trained on the heavy gun in my hand.
I inclined my head and cocked the gun. “In that case?—”
“Wait, wait,” he balked. “I don’t know the name, but the rumors are that powerful Boston families are in it,” he confessed on a shaky breath. “That’s all I know. I promise.”
“And what powerful Boston family is that?”
“I don’t know.”
I narrowed my gaze at Michael as I gestured with my matte black Glock G19. Rage shot through me, fast and hot. It ripped my chest to shreds.
“Fucking end him,” Salvatore gritted. “This guy is a fucking idiot.”
“Wait, wait,” Michael pleaded, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, before he whispered, “That shipment… They’ll try again. The more product lost, the weaker you will be.”
“Name,” I demanded.
He shook his head. “I don’t have it. Nobody knows who’s in the Obsidian Society.”
