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Silence descends upon us, making my heart thump unsteadily in my chest. Renz gazes at me with an unreadable expression but it’s Eli, unsurprisingly, who breaks the silence.
“Obviously,” he drawls with an annoyed scoff. “If we’re all being honest here, let’s just lay our cards on the table, yeah?” My brows lift in question as I focus on Eli, ignoring Renz who’s now glaring at the both of us. “We’ve been beating around the bush with her for months but if I’ve learned anything from having my life under constant threat, it’s that there is no time like the present. We’ve all wanted to fuck her again since the day we walked out of her house and I’m tired of bitching about not having her, so, I’m taking her.”
He shrugs simply as though he didn’t just basically say that he’d have Violet whether she’s interested or not. I know Eli is eccentric but fuck. That’s a bit too far, even for me.
“She’s not athingyou can just take, Elijah!” Renz barks, startling me with his vehement tone. “And do not speak on my behalf.”
Completely unbothered by Renz’s anger, Eli chuckles and forges on. “I’m not an idiot. I know I can’t justtakeher, that’s not what I meant. What I’m saying is that I want her for more than just a fuck, but I’ll take her any way she’ll let me, and I’m not speaking on your behalf your pompous douchebag, I’m just stating the obvious. The three of us want her, she wants us, so let’s stop pussy-footing around and take want we want like the cutthroat mafia men we are.”
My mouth flops open as I listen to his speech. He’s standing now, his hands flapping about like some sort of inspirational speaker on a stage. Glancing at Renz, I see him equally amused and shocked before suddenly, he falls into a fit of laughter. The deep timber of it bounces around the small room and despite my bad mood, I find myself laughing along with him.
“Did you seriously just give us a motivational speech?” Renz gasps out as he wipes tears from his eyes. “What are you? Team Coach?”
Eli glares at both of us in annoyance. “Well, someone has to be!”
“And you think that’s you?” I joke, giving him an offended look. “If anyone is the captain of this ship, it’s me.” A pen flies past my face, narrowly avoiding a collision with my forehead. My head snaps in Renz’s direction only to find a second pen hurtling toward me. It smacks me in the cheek and the slight sting freezes my laughter.
“I amliterallythe leader, you imbeciles.” A third pen sails through the air, hitting Eli in his nose. He gasps in mock outrage, but Renz continues as he unfolds his body and stands. “And don’t you little fuckers forget it. Let’s go.”
BLOOD//WATER-GRANDSON
Less than ten minutes later, the three of us are in our integration room which in all honesty, is more a floor than a singular space. Given that we own the entire building, we’ve had plenty of room to get creative with. We may not enjoy living here, but no one can say that we’re wasteful.
Ten floors down from our residence, the 42ndfloor is nothing but a place where men come to die. It’s completely soundproofed with concrete flooring that’s easy to clean. Cells line one of the walls, making it resemble a simple jail. In the center of the room, sits one chair that is attached to floor with chains to prevent escape.
Not that anyone could ever escape this floor, or us for that matter.
The walls are bland and white, as is the rest of this place. The entire floor is kept just above freezing, ensuring that none of ourguestsget too comfortable. We may not need to interrogate people very often, but when we do, we need a place that suits all of our needs and we’ve outfitted42with that in mind.
Renz, Eli, and I, each have different tastes when it comes to torture. With one look, people would assume that Eli, being the loose cannon that he is, would be the one to take control of such situations; however, those people would be wrong.
Eli has a short fuse and tends to snap at inconvenient times. Premature death is a terrible interrogation tactic. Despite the fact that Renz is the Don of the Cosa Nostra, even he is not the one to take point down here. He’s more of a ‘punch now, ask again when they wake up’, type. While it is effective, it’s time-consuming, and time we do not have.
No. This floor is my domain.
Like a priest with holy water, these sessions purge me of my demons and 42 just happens to be my church.
“Wake up!” Renz barks and Eli tosses a bucket of water on the poor sod’s head. He struggles to peel his eyes open and even I can admit, I feel for the guy. Paulo and Garrett did not offer him a warm welcome earlier, and he’s been strapped to a cold metal chair in a 40-degree room ever since.
Well, I don’t feel allthatbad for him. If you don’t want to be beaten within an inch of your life, you really shouldn’t go after the head of the Italian Mafia. He truly should consider a career change if he wants a better ending to his evenings. Life choices and all that.
Alas, this will be the end of the road for him, no matter what information he deigns to give us so I suppose a career change would be irrelevant and counterproductive.
He blinks once, and then again, as he groggily begins to look around the room. It’s dimly lit and has no windows so beyond the three of us, he likely can’t see much. My assumption is proven correct when he lets out a pitiful whimper.
“Where am I?” Ah, a question. That won’t do. Stepping forward, I let an easy grin spread across my face as I begin to spin my favorite tool around one of my fingers. His eyes widen in horror as he takes me in, and I feel a wave of sick satisfaction at that, though I know it’s more to do with the circumstances than me as a person.
I doubt there are any rumors circulating about me and my…methods, considering the fact that absolutely no one has ever left their special time with me while still breathing. If no one is alive to speak, there are no rumors to be had. A part of me wishes that I had some sort of a fan club. That people knew my name and what I’m capable of before ever meeting me, like a ghost story on the wind.
It’s probably better this way though. I can revel in people’s terror while they’re with me and then walk out of this room, forgetting that this side of myself even exists. I am not like Eli who revels in the blood and gore of our lifestyle. He would happily regale the tales of all the sick and twisted things he’s done for hours, even in mixed company. I, however, enjoy sinking into this disturbed part of my soul when I need to and then tucking it away in a dark box until it needs to be called upon again.
The nameless man pales as he becomes aware of the dire situation he’s gotten himself into. When he notices his naked and bruised body, he begins to breathe heavily. His panic only increases as he takes in the metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, spreading him wide and leaving nothing to the imagination. He begins to sob, and I swear his pitiful little cock retreats into his body like a turtle seeking the safety of its shell.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I drawl as I continue to spin my toy. The cold metal in my hand grounds me, reminding me that I have a job to do here.
He whimpers again, sniffling loudly as he tries to contain his tears. I shoot a knowing look at Renz and Eli who are standing just beside me, creating a united front. They match my look with one of their own. They agree. This man is not of our world. There is no way any thoroughly trained mafia or cartel soldier would be behaving in such a way.
Earlier, when we were discussing who could be responsible for these attacks with Gage, he’d mentioned that Raul Diaz, the head of the Mexican Cartel, utilizes lowly gangs across the United States to do his bidding. Operating off of that assumption, it is safe to wager that this man could be one of said lowly gangbangers.
