Page 80 of Hard Bargain

Dominic tipped his head toward the corridor where the guards had taken the attacker. “You coming?”

The words landed somewhere between a question and a command. He was immediately irritated. Why the hell did he want Knox with him?

He didn’t examine it.

Knox held his gaze for a long moment, weighing the invitation. Then he glanced back toward his friends, standing a few feet away, watching them with open confusion.

Right.

Of course.

Knox scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and headed over to them. Dominic stayed where he was and watched from a distance. Knox leaned in to say something over the music. The blond frowned immediately, while the darker one pushed back, clearly unhappy about it. Whatever he said next seemed to settle it, or at least end the argument. One of them looked toward Dominic with obvious distrust. The other looked like he had ten questions he wasn’t going to get answers to.

Knox clapped them on the shoulder and stepped away before they could stop him.

Dominic was still watching when Knox stopped in front of him. “Let’s go,” he said.

* * *

The holding cell sat in the sealed-off basement beneath Dominic’s warehouse, a square of reinforced concrete carved out below ground level. It had been soundproofed years ago, when Dominic decided it was easier to deal with problems on his own property than anywhere else. There were occasions when problems needed to be contained before they could be solved.

Tonight was one of those occasions.

The attacker had been thrown onto the floor the moment they arrived. Now he was on his knees, wrists bound in front of him, breathing hard through the blood running slowly from his nose. The adrenaline that had carried him through a crowded club with a knife had burned off completely. In its place was something uglier.

Fear.

Dominic stepped inside the cell, Cassian following close behind. Knox remained in the doorway looking in. Dominic was aware of him standing there without needing to look.

He rolled his injured arm once. The cut pulled, sharp and unpleasant, and served as a useful reminder of why the man was kneeling in front of him. Cassian had insisted on having it stitched, but Dominic had waved him off, settling for a quick bandage instead. It was still bleeding, but not as profusely as before. It would hold for now. The stitches could wait until he’d finished this business.

He stepped closer. “You tried to kill the wrong man.”

The attacker’s chest rose and fell unevenly as he looked up at him. “I didn’t—”

Dominic’s shoe drove into his ribs before the sentence could finish. The crack of impact echoed off the walls. The man collapsed sideways, a strangled cry tearing out of him as the air left his lungs.

Dominic stepped forward and kicked him again.

And again.

Each strike landed with the same force. The attacker curled inward on the floor, coughing, trying to protect his ribs with bound hands that couldn’t move properly.

Behind him, Cassian watched with open delight. “God,” he said with a laugh. “This is going to be fun.”

Dominic grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt and dragged him upright. He sagged in Dominic’s grip, legs barely holding him. Cassian pushed off the wall and stepped behind the attacker, seizing the ties binding his wrists. Before the man could understand what was happening, Cassian hauled his arms upward and back, forcing him toward the wall where a thick hook was bolted into the concrete. He lifted the bound wrists over it. The man’s feet barely touched the floor now, toes scraping helplessly as his shoulders strained under his own weight.

Cassian stepped back and admired the arrangement. “There we go,” he said with satisfaction.

Dominic watched the man struggle for a moment. Helpless.

He stepped closer and the attacker tried to shrink away, but the hook held him exactly where he was. Dominic grabbed his jaw and forced his head up. “Who sent you?”

The man shook his head violently. “I—I don’t—”

Cassian reached into his jacket pocket. “Almost forgot,” he said. When his hand came back out, the knife was in it. The same blade the man had brought into the club. Cassian turned it slowly between his fingers, inspecting the edge like a man appraising a tool. “You dropped this,” he added.

The attacker’s breathing turned shallow.