Page 23

His eyes widen in sudden, terrified recognition, and the second he blinks the water out of his vision, he begins to beg.

“Please. Please. Don’t kill me. Please.”

I stare down at him, a deep, bitter disappointment washing over me. I’m itching for a real fight, dying for violence, and I’d fully convinced myself this fucker would give me an excuse to tear him apart. He has the broad frame and hardened jaw of a man who could take a beating, but under the surface, he's soft.

I let out a sigh, cracking my knuckles one by one. "What were you doing at that warehouse?"

"I was just following orders!" he stammers, his voice high and shaking as he strains against the chains. "Nolan sent me there to burn it down! To destroy everything inside!"

"Why?" I demand, stepping closer until my boots are inches from his.

"Because he's tightening operations," the man gasps out, flinching when I shift my weight. "He's cleaning house!"

"Explain," I growl, grabbing a handful of his wet hair and pulling his head back so he’s forced to look me in the eye. "Now."

"He... he called his brothers back!" he sputters, panic making his words run together. "Brendan and Lachlan! The Devlins lost too much ground after the failed Moretti alliance fell apart. They're hemorrhaging money and territory. Nolan’s bringing his family home to rebuild the whole organization from the ground up!"

I keep my grip tight on his hair, keeping my voice dead calm. "And Alexis Hayes? Why is Nolan trailing her?"

"She's just a mark! I don’t know much else!" he cries out. "Nolan ordered us to collect everything on her! We got her home address, her work schedule, her routes, her grandmother’s medical records—everything! He wanted every single piece of leverage he could get his hands on!"

Something inside me snaps.

The controlled rage in my chest detonates into pure, blinding violent impulse. I release his hair and drive my fist straight into the center of his face with everything I’ve got.

The sickening crunch of his nose shattering echoes off the high concrete walls. He screams, his head snapping back violently, blood spraying across his chest.

Before he can even recover, I cock my arm back and split his eye open with a brutal left hook, following it up with a hard right that breaks the bone around his socket.

I hit him again and again, the raw thuds of leather knuckles slamming into flesh filling the quiet room. I don't stop until both of his eyes are swollen completely shut, purplish-black and pouring blood, his head slumping forward against his chest as he groans in senseless agony.

I pull back, my breath heavy in the quiet warehouse, my knuckles dripping red.

Nolan Devlin just made the biggest mistake of his life.

"Please... please, man," the fucker whimpers, his broken voice bubbling through the thick blood pooling in his throat. Both of his eyes are swollen into dark, grotesque slits, but he knows what's coming. "Don't... don't torture me. Just don't torture me...kill me.”

He begs over and over, the pathetic chanting echoing off the cold concrete walls.

I stand over him, resting my bloodied knuckles against my thighs, my chest rising and falling in heavy, controlled breaths. I stare down at the broken shape of him, the blinding rage slowly settling into something cold, heavy, and dangerously quiet.

I pause, my gaze hollowed out.

"Sometimes," I say, my voice a low, quiet rasp that barely carries across the room, "a quick death is the only mercy a man can give another."

The words leave a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth, pulling from a dark, buried place deep inside me—a phantom memory of blood, dying gasps, and a decision that changed me forever.

But before the ghost of that memory can take root and drag me under, I shut it down completely, slamming the door shut in my mind.

I pull the suppressed pistol from my shoulder holster, press the cold steel barrel directly against the center of his forehead, and pull the trigger.

The man goes instantly limp, his head dropping forward as the tension leaves his body for good.

I lower the gun, flipping the safety back on, and slide it back into my leather harness. I don't have time to dwell on the dead, and I certainly don't have time to stare at his blood.

I have somewhere to be.

I turn my head toward the soldiers standing silently near the door.