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"Sicilian."
"You were just there for the drugs?"
"What else would I be there for?"
"That’s what I’m trying to figure out, MacMurray. See, a good little soldier like you knew that my da didn’t want his guards on drugs—"
"He’s dead. His rules don’t fucking matter anymore."
Acting as if he hadn’t spoken, I continued, "And though there’s been a change of leadership, we both know that Da picked his men with a purpose—you’re all fucking stupid. Too stupid to live.
"So, what I’m thinking is that Red makes users more volatile and aggressive with every dose. According to the madam, the last time you were here, Da was still alive, and you beat your hooker, which means you were using then."
"Bullshit," he snarled.
"No? One junkie recognizes another," I snarled back. "Do you buy directly from the Sicilians?"
If that was the case, I was going to be pissed.
MacMurray’s nostrils flared. "I don’t answer to you."
"I think you’ll find that you fucking do," Brennan snapped.
Swooping down, he grabbed the spreader bar, jerking it up until MacMurray was rocking forward, his knees and wrists taking all his weight.
Brennan proceeded to grab his foot, twisting hard enough until MacMurray was screaming.
The distinct pop of a bone coming out of the socket filled the air.
MacMurray howled, "You bastard!"
"No, that’s me," Finn rumbled. "And Aidanisyour fucking leader. Youdoanswer to him. If you don’t like it, you can swallow a bullet because as far as I remember, this ain’t a fucking democracy and you don’t get to vote."
I didn’t need their support, but having my brothers at my back, my left and right-hand men at my sides, sure as fuck felt good.
"Who’s your dealer?"
"I buy from the source," was all MacMurray muttered, even as he was hissing with every fidgeting move he made as he tried not to put pressure on the dislocated mess of his ankle—not easy with the spreader bar supporting his weight.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I pondered his words then told Brennan, "Take him to the cement factory."
Brennan arched a brow but didn’t argue. "Fine."
"No!What the fuck? You can’t take me there! I ain’t done nothing wrong," MacMurray spat, his busted ankle forgotten when he knew his life was on the line.
Under Da’s rule, the cement factory had become a morgue for the living.
A tradition I was going to continue…
"I don’t believe you. You had your chance to answer me, but you wasted that opportunity. I’ll get my answers soon enough."
"You can’t torture me," he screamed, his eyes bulging and bloodshot, his fear finally flooding the space between us. I could taste it on my tongue as he sputtered, "I’m a Five Pointer!"
"Then you’re deserving of my best work," I retorted, spinning away from him and heading over to the nearest window that looked onto the hallway; perfect for voyeurs when the curtains weren’t closed, I assumed.
A few minutes later, I wasn’t surprised when MacMurray was silent. Not after Brennan decided to rearrange his skeleton some more by reversing his earlier move then grabbing his wrists and dragging them higher up the pole until both shoulder joints were popping out of their sockets too.
Sometimes, the simplest moves were the most effective.
