Page 22 of Brutal Truths

Leaning against his desk, arms crossed, Trent glares at the third man bound to the chair. “Now it’s your turn, Dr. Finnly.”

That name snags my attention. “Dr. Finnly. Well, what are the odds we’d run into each other again so soon?”

Trent’s gaze shifts, sharp and curious. “You know him, Aiden?”

“I know of him. He upset Alma in A&E the night of the fire. Was disrespectful.” I take a seat on the couch across from Dr. Finnly and get comfortable. “I kicked his arse out.”

My focus returns to the doctor. “So what did you do to get your arse dragged into my boss’s office?”

Doc tries to speak, but the duct tape on his mouth reduces it to a muffled noise.

Trent pushes off his desk and steps closer. “He cheated at poker and got caught, didn’t you?”

Dr. Finnly shakes his head wildly, panic bleeding through the sounds he can’t form.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Trent kicks him hard in the shin. “The proof is on your fucking phone.”

“Can I see?” I ask, knowing this shithead is fucked if it’s true.

Drake pulls a phone from his pocket and hands it to me. Rattles off the passcode they’ve clearly beaten out of him, making facial recognition unable to work.

I unlock it, then whistle low.

“Not only did you lie, but you were stupid enough to use your phone.” Opening his photo app, I scroll through a series of images clearly taken here, prompting a tsk of disapproval. “And you took photos. Not just used it—you documented it. Of the ladies, no less. And shitty ones at that.”

I shake my head. “Damn. That’s gonna cost you, dipshit. Three rules broken. I bet you wish you could go back and fix that decision.”

Standing in front of Dr. Finnly, Trent’s gaze shifts past me, landing on Cort, who sways, looking like he might collapse under the weight of it.

“What do you think we should do about this, Mr. Theiss?”

“Please, sir, don’t ask me that.” Cort turns to look at the doctor, while he’s still bent over, dragging in uneven breaths like he might fold any second.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” Trent warns, his tone almost bored. “I want you to watch. Because I want you to remember what I’ll do to you later if you lie to me.”

Cort gives him a feeble nod, forcing himself upright. Barely. His eyes are glazed over, and his lips pale.

“Normally, I’d cut off a finger for each rule broken.” Trent picks up the guillotine he uses on his cigars and squeezes it to make a point. “But you cheated, and I hate cheaters.”

He sets the guillotine back on his desk before moving to the wall where a sword hangs. His fingers curl around the sword as he pulls it free.

“I’ve never used this.” He studies the blade. “The man who gave it to me warned me to be careful with it. That if I wasn’t, I could easily cut off something I didn’t mean to.”

He glances sideways. “What do you think, Drake? Believe that’s possible?”

Drake is a man of few words. He’s more about action. Ready and waiting.

“Oh, fuck!” The words fall from Cort’s mouth, and I have to agree.

I’ve witnessed a few of Trent’s interrogations. He always comes up with clever ways to torture those who cross him. But this… this is new. This is something different.

Dr. Finnly knows it too. His eyes widen in horror, locking onto the blade like he understands exactly what’s about to happen.

It’s over almost as quickly as it begins.

With one swift, brutal swing, the blade slices through the air, severing the doctor’s right hand. Blood spurts out from the end. Pulsating, painting the floor in seconds.

Thankfully, I’m out of range.