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His smile flickers. “I beg your pardon?”
“Where did you find Quinn?” I ask. “How? Show me a hostage video. Anything.”
“Of course, my boy.” Crius reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.
I shoot his shoulder, all promises of a swift execution forgotten.
He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his teeth. “Marius. Always so impetuous.”
The hand in his inside pocket falls, as does the gun, which skitters beneath the table.
“You lied about Quinn?” I snarl.
Crius releases his cane and clutches the edge of the table for balance. “I hoped to use your weakness for women to my advantage.”
“You’re pathetic.”
He wheezes. “If that’s not you under the sheet, who is it?”
“Your man.”
I slip my gun back into the holster, forgetting all thoughts of a swift kill.
Shooting is too good for this bastard.
He gazes up at me, his blue eyes shining. “Marius, my boy—”
My fist meets his jaw. “You are no father of mine.”
Crius falls backward, hitting the ground with a pained hiss.
“Be reasonable,” he wheezes. “When Monica came to me with her plan, I saw to it that nobody got hurt or killed at my hands.”
By now, the sounds of shooting have stopped, and the City Mortuary falls silent. Rapid, rasping breaths grate against my eardrums as I advance toward the fallen man.
He looks pathetic, lying on the floor, trying to scoot backward toward the exit. I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket and extract my knife.
“Marius,” he rasps. “Don’t do this.”
“How many women have you had in this position?” I snarl. “How many of them have begged and cried and pleaded for mercy?”
He clutches his bleeding shoulder and winces. “You will regret killing your father.”
“Have you lost count of how many lives you’ve ruined?” I ask through clenched teeth.
The door creaks open, and I flick my gaze to the direction of the sound to find Thor slipping inside. As he closes the door behind him, I pull my gun back out of its holster and turn my attention back to Crius.
“May I ask a favor?” he whispers.
“No.”
I kneel at his side, pull him up by the injured shoulder, enjoying his pained hiss. He doesn’t flinch or struggle or fight. Perhaps he already knows he’s defeated. Perhaps he doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.
As much as I want this moment to last forever, I’m still surrounded by enemies.
Positioning the knife three inches below his ear, I slice through his carotid artery. Crius gasps as warm blood spurts out of the wound and soaks my hand.
“Make sure my other boys don’t starve. They’ll be trapped in their apartments without me to visit their mothers.”
