Page 100 of No Darker Temptation

“Ow!”

“Get your shit together. We’re working.”

“I’ve been stuck out here with Coppola for the better part of the summer. I’m missing all the action!” Beni vents and a huff of frustration leaves him. “It’s boring as ever-loving fuck out here. Following around the patróncita all day was more entertaining than this.”

The guys have a collection of affectionate nicknames for the girls that they don’t have for Diego and me. Lettie’s La Damacita—the little lady—and Dahlia is usually some combination of jefecita or patróncita, a feminized version of what they use to address me.

“Do you know how insufferable it is out here? With Oscar?” Beni says. “He has all the charisma of half-dried beige paint.”

“Why half-dried…?” Dimitrio murmurs.

“I have no idea what Pedro sees in him. They just don’t click!”

“Are the two of you done? I don’t want to waste the rest of my day here.”

On cue, the door opens and Diego walks inside, followed by Walsh and Collins, being carted in on chairs with wheels. Paco and Mauricio get them into position transferring them from the wheeling chairs to the metal ones bolted to the floor and leave the blindfolds on. Diego dims the lights and I examine the table in front of me. Hopefully, they crack quickly and I can be out of here by nightfall. I’m not in the mood to play Grim Reaper today.

Paco waits for my instruction, and I cast a glance at him over my shoulder. He nods and removes the blindfolds as well as the gags stuffed into their mouths.

Callum Walsh, fifty-two-years-old, of average height and built with a crooked nose, thin lips, and hair cropped so short the color is indecipherable. Most likely dirty blond or light brown. Next to him is his son-in-law, Aiden Collins, thirty-seven-years-old and a disgraceful match for Walsh’s daughter Rose whom I told is afraid of her own shadow and barely over the threshold of twenty. Collins is tall enough to tower over his father-in-law even sitting down. His face is hard and unforgiving, characterized by a brutal, downturned mouth and eyes too eerily dark for his milky complexion.

“Don’t say anything,” the son-in-law grits.

I spin around. “American? Didn’t expect that.”

Collins shoots daggers in my direction and makes an attempt to free himself from the cuffs keeping his wrists pinned to the armrests. To his surprise and my annoyance, he fails.

It’s the same room Jean Beauchamp died in a year ago. What I like best about it is the set up. Square, sterile, with smooth surfaces and adjustable lighting. Perfect place for interrogations that require a little extra elbow grease. Not to mention the viewing room on the other side which is useful when I need a break but can’t miss a word of what’s being said.

“I’d like to keep this short and simple if you don’t mind.” I lean against the table behind me and slip on a pair of brass knuckles. I need something else to take the hit for once because the skin there has finally healed. “I ask a few questions and you answer. How does that sound?”

Neither of them responds, but I don’t expect them to.

“I’m interrogating you together because there’s an innocent girl in the middle. Can’t leave poor Rose a widow and an orphan in one fellow sweep. Who will protect her?”

Especially since their entire families were wiped out yesterday afternoon.

Walsh sneers at me and tries to free himself but the metal seat croaks and groans in response.

“Which means I’m willing to let one of you leave here alive. So choose quickly. One person tells me what I need to know and the other…” I cross my arms over my chest. “You get the picture.”

“Narvaez,” Collins says. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Be a little more creative with your threats. Otherwise, this’ll get boring quickly.”

Walsh swallows hard and a vein in his temple twitches. “Leave Rose out of this and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Collins rocks ferociously in his chair. “Don’t fucking say⁠—”

I flick my chin and Paco gags his mouth with a thick rag. Walsh’s fingers flex and clench as a war rages inside of him. Debating between his daughter’s safety and his own sense of loyalty.

“It was never personal. Just business. Sandoval promised us control of the territory I wanted if we helped him take you out.”

“Were you behind both hits last summer?”

“I don’t know anything about you getting run off the road outside of Vallvidrera. By the time Aiden and I joined the operation, Sandro was frantic.”

My eyes narrow. “Frantic? Why?”