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“I’ll see what I can do.”
Then I’m being shown to a spare office to work.
32
Tobias
Two days.
That’s how long it takes Jaxson Price to find the location of the stolen shipment. Actually, it only took him two hours. The rest of the time is what it took us to come up with a foolproof plan to rid the assholes who stole from me. That’s why I’m glad Jaxson is on my side of the war.
Lorenzo said he wanted to handle it, but that shit didn’t fly for me.
They didn’t steal from him. This isn’t an attack on him. This is my war.
My men are all with me. We are rolling in twenty men deep, ready to show these fools exactly why you don’t fuck with me.
The ride goes by in a flash, adrenaline running through my blood. When the cars roll to a halt, we are up half a block, parking in front of a different warehouse. We fall out, fanning in four directions to cover the whole building. Gideon moves in, attaching a bomb to the door, and moves back before it blows. One of his specialties. He might come across as pretty laid-back, but he’s deviant. He loves blowing shit up.
We all have our gear on. Then we are running into the building, guns raised. Shoot first. Ask questions later. But keep one alive.
My men know I want to leave someone alive.
By the time we stop shooting, no one stands but my team. Gideon, however, has someone by the throat.
“This one is not dead.”
“Good. Take him with us.”
“Back to the building?” Gideon drops the man to the ground and kicks him in the stomach before grabbing the zip tie in his back pocket and securing our new captive’s hands.
“Yep.”
“Found the stash,” I hear Chaz, one of my security guards, say.
“Grab it. Fast.”
My men pack up the drugs, and I head back to the car. We leave the bodies for the authorities to find. They won’t find anything that will tie it to us.
Forty minutes later, the scumbag is tied up in a chair in my warehouse by the dock. I wouldn’t bring him back to the city because I don’t need that shit where I live. He’s not talking yet. Yet being the operative word. He will soon.
Gideon is already starting. I roll up my sleeves, grab a knife, and make my way over.
“Who do you work for?” I ask, not even looking at him, bored of this shit already.
But I need confirmation before I blow Felix out of the water. So far, there has been no connection to him. My men scoured the warehouse where they found my drugs but found no evidence to pin him to the theft. Not that I thought there would be.
Hence my desire to keep one alive.
“Ahh, you’re playing hard to get?” I place the blade over his cheek, trailing it down to his jaw.
The pressure isn’t hard, but it’s enough. A crimson line follows in my wake.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can choose.”
“What’s the point? You’re going to kill me anyway,” he spits.
“This is true. But what happens between now and then will be worlds of difference. It’s really up to you. I’m good either way.” I shrug.
He still doesn’t speak, so I shrug again.
“I’ll take it that’s your answer.” I turn to Gideon. “Get the tequila?”
“Salt?”
“Yep.”
“A lime as well.” He laughs, knowing full well what I’m about to do. I nod at his comment. “Seems like a good time for a drink.”
Before long, Gideon is stepping up, tequila in his hand. As soon as he’s standing beside me, I take the knife and draw a deep slash on the exposed skin of our captive’s chest.
The man in the chair is biting his cheeks to stop himself from screaming, but Gideon pours booze over the wound, and that’s all it takes. The man can no longer refrain. The scream echoes through the air, fueling my sadistic need to hurt him. I cut again. Gideon pours. We continue for ten minutes. He still doesn’t budge.
Got to hand it to him, he’s tougher than I thought. I’m not sure why he keeps quiet. Felix won’t have his back.
“You don’t need to stay quiet for him. It won’t help you, and no one is coming to rescue you.”
For a second, I think I see something pass over his face, but when he doesn’t open his mouth, I turn to Gideon. “Remove his pants.”
That makes the man’s eyes go wide.
“Ready to talk?” I smirk.
“I don’t know anything,” he mutters.
“That might be true, but maybe you saw something.” I lift my knife in show as I step closer to him.
“A rich guy. Mid-fifties. Nice suit.”
Leaning over, I trail the blade up his thigh. My intentions for where it will strike next clear. “Go on.”
