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Walking over to Eddie’s naked ass, I survey the area, ensuring no one’s around. The car tires kick up gravel as Marcello brings it across the lot, gaining Eddie’s attention. Looking over his shoulder, he frowns.
“You finished?” I ask, slipping on my leather gloves.
Dropping his eyes to his cock, he jerks it, then tucks it back in his jeans. “What the fuck—?”
I hold a finger to my lips, then palm the side of his face and ram his skull into the brick wall.
It takes two hits to knock him out. Marcello pops the trunk and jumps out to help me dump the bastard in there. “What the fucks that stench?” Marcello screws up his face, grabbing Eddie’s arms, straining from the dead weight.
“He’s covered in piss.” He whisper—yells.
He may have landed in his own piss
“Just lift the fucker.” I grunt, heaving his body over the lip of the trunk.
I’ll have to burn this suit.
“Feels like old times.” Marcello grins over at me as we slam the lid closed.
Wiping my hands down my jacket, I smirk. “This is how criminals are made,” I remind him.
Getting into the passenger seat beside him I add, “We all have to get our hands a little dirty every now and then.”
We pull up to the warehouse, greeted by my men who take Eddie from the trunk and tie him to a chair in the middle of the space reserved for these types of meetings.
Slipping out of my jacket, I place it on a hook on the far wall, then take my time undoing the cuffs of my shirt and rolling up the sleeves—a deliberate action to give Eddie time to adjust to his new predicament.
“I know who you are,” he stutters, eyes flickering open, wincing in pain. The side of his face already swelling.
“That’s good, we can skip the introductions then,” I mutter, scraping a chair along the concrete floor. Placing it a few feet away from him, I sit, resting my elbow on my knees. “Tell me what you did to Serena.” I cut straight to the chase.
“Nothing,” He shakes his head vehemently.
“You see…” I wag a finger, shaking my head, “I don’t believe you.” I look up at Marcello who is standing a few feet away. His legs slightly parted, arms crossed, he gazes down at Eddie with dark intent. “What do you think, Marcello?”
“I think he’s a lying murderer.” His skin stretches into a snarl.
“I swear, I didn’t fucking touch her.”
I give the subtle nod to one of my men we call The Dentist.
Wheeling a trolley over, he unwraps a leather binding, revealing a set of tools inside.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I ask, and Eddie jerks a shoulder.
“I don’t fucking know. We broke up.”
“Take a tooth. Let’s see if it will help him remember,” I command.
“No. What? Wait.” He bucks, trying to free himself from his bindings, but this place was built for torture. He isn’t going anywhere.
Another one of my men grabs his head from behind, forcing his jaw down to open his mouth.
The dentist doesn’t hesitate despite the screams. The sound is like biting into a strawberry when he plucks the tooth from gum.
It’s extraordinary how much the mouth bleeds when injured.
Gurgling on the blood, Eddie spits down himself and thrashes, cussing me out.
“When was the last time you saw Serena?” I ask again, my tone bored.
“Fuck you, you fucking cunt motherfucker.” He spits in my direction, blood and saliva spattering the space between us.
“Take another,” I command.
The tooth clinks when it’s dropped on the metal trolly. Molars are surprisingly large.
“She hated you.” He dribbles, his eyes rapidly blinking, sniffling, I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Checking my watch, I blow out a bored breath. Serena loved me. She wanted more than I was willing to give, but was content with our arrangement.
“We were going to get married, have kids.” His breaths come in heavy pants, and he slumps over.
Snorting, I fold my arms and lean back into the chair. “From what I hear, you were into beating her.” I give a silent demand to the dentist, and he fists his hand. The punch comes from his right, twisting Eddie’s head to the side.
The chair is cemented into the ground and doesn’t move. “That doesn’t sound like a good foundation for marriage and kids.” Another punch.
“Why did you kill her?”
“You killed her,” he wheezes, his eyes unfocused.
“Her sister seems to think you did it,” Marcello interjects, grabbing him by the jaw, putting pressure on the gums. Eddie howls in pain, fighting to pull his head free.
When Marcello finally releases him, he says, “Natasha is a stuck-up little bitch.” His lips flex, taking in a breath. “If she weren’t an ugly cunt, I’d fuck the snob out of her.”
“Where were you the night she was murdered?” I growl.
