Page 6 of Brutal Truths

I squat in front of him, staring down at the coward who’s pissed himself in my entryway while Bear stands guard. “Who?”

Silas kicks him hard in the arse. “Tell him.”

“Marvin. He works with the Russians.” His shoulders cave as he rakes a hand through his hair, gripping hard. “I had no choice. I didn’t know.”

Marvin works for the Russians now? Interesting.

I wonder if Trent knows. I can’t imagine he’d be happy about that. Marvin, a man who swore himself to the Doyle family, working with the Russians. He’s never met a Russian he trusts or likes. They’re public enemy number one, and he’s made it his mission to put as many of them in the ground as he can.

With a sharp snap of my fingers, I call Bear off, then grab Cort’s shirt, yanking him to his feet. “Know what?”

“What they were planning. I was only trying to keep my family safe. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t know they were going to kill him.” Cort shudders, the movement impossible to ignore.

“You saw them kill Rico?” I ask.

“No.” He shakes his head, his nerves getting the better of him. “Not exactly. You two called, and I had to go. I just assumed it was them. The Russians weren’t happy when I left. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t give them what they wanted.”

“And they just let you go?” I don’t believe that for a second.

“I was warned. Told to make sure Mr. Doyle didn’t become suspicious. To stick with the plan and all would be fine.” He swallows, still too afraid to move with Bear behind me, looking ready to rip his face off. “So, I did.”

Over Cort’s head, I lock eyes with Silas. He looks ready to kill and ask questions later. Good thing I’m the levelheaded one here. It’s best to get the answers before you start dropping bodies.

Releasing Cort’s shirt, I brush it off and steady him on his feet. “Follow me. I want every single detail. If I sense hesitation, I won’t stop Silas from doing what needs to be done. Unlike Trent, he doesn’t ask twice; he goes straight for the kill. Do we understand each other?”

“I like that plan.” Silas cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. “I’m itching to kill someone.”

Leading them into my small office, I gesture for them to sit. Behind my desk, I grab three highballs from the liquor cabinet. Opening the glass door to retrieve the scotch, I press the concealed button beneath the wooden lip before removing the bottle, activating the bugs hidden throughout the house. Every word from this point on will be recorded.

“Drink?” With the whiskey bottle in hand, I kick the cabinet closed. “Dry or ice?”

I prefer ice, so I open the ice bin and drop two cubes into mine.

“Dry,” Silas says as he takes the seat closest to the door. “This is nice and cozy.”

“It works.” Two more cubes clink into my glass as I turn to Cort. “What about you?”

“Ice.” He sinks into the only available seat with a grunt, his gaze snagging on the items scattered across my desk. They interrupted me right in the middle of putting things away. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes,” Silas answers before I can. “But it’ll be quicker if you⁠—”

“No.” I turn, pulling out my chair. “Not if you tell us what we need to know and then help us. You do us no good dead.”

Silas reaches for the drink I set in front of him and tosses it back. “Whatever. It depends on what you share, I guess. Start from the beginning.”

Pushing the highball in Cort’s direction, I nod for him to start talking. A few sentences in, I grab the bottle of scotch and place it on the desk, anticipating both men will need a refill. Not me. I’ll nurse this one—one of us needs to remain sober.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Judging by the way Silas’s hand tightens around his glass, neither can he. Cort’s dug himself one hell of a grave. I’ll do my best to keep him from dying a slow, painful death inside it.

“Hold up. Let me make sure I’m following.” Reaching into my desk, I grab a notebook and pen to write this down. “Four months ago, Rico stopped by your store looking to sell you this brooch.” I tap it with the tip of my pen to make sure.

His attention keeps drifting back to it, like it might bite. “Where did you get that?”

“You don’t get to ask the questions.” I push it toward him. “Tell me more about this. What is something like this worth?”

Silas leans in to study it. Something flickers behind his eyes as he does—a memory, maybe. Of what, I’m not sure.

“It’s a rare piece. Those who recognize its true value might call it priceless. That’s what I told Rico. I turned him away because I couldn’t afford to buy it.” With a shaky hand, he lifts his drink and takes a modest sip.