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“I’ll tell you what’s a lie,” Aidan rasps. “Getting me to send one of my men to L.A. to save your daughter when she didn’t need saving.” He glares at Davis. “The surgery you performed on me has changed my life, Davis. I owed you one. I’d have given you any-fucking-thing you wanted, and you chose your daughter. But you lied, and there’s one thing you don’t do with a Five Pointer… What is that, Cade? Lucas?”
Lucas is the one who drawls, “Lie, Aidan. You never lie to the Irish Mob.”
Aidan, ignoring Davis’s insistence that he hasn’t lied to us, speaks over the bastard, “And why is that, Cade?”
I thought about what he’d done to Cain MacMurray to show him what happened to traitors within the Five Points’ fold. “You find yourself without a tongue.”
Davis’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Y-You can’t be serious. I didn’t lie! This is nonsense. Isabelle is a liar. It’s compulsive, borderline sociopathic, and you fell for it! Why would I ask you for a favor that would antagonize one of the most powerful men in the city?”
His desperation leaks through each word.
“Because you’re arrogant,” I say simply. “And you have a sick obsession with your daughter.”
I round the desk, watching him watch me, and I pull out a knife that has him rolling back in his chair so fast that he collides with the wall.
When he scrambles to his feet, I slice my hand out and cup his throat, flexing my thumb and pointer finger around his windpipe. Surging forward, I pin him to the wall, watching with satisfaction as fear leaches into his eyes.
“I wonder if Belle was as scared as you are now,” I snarl in his ear, “when she realized you killed the only parent who loved her and she was left alone with you.”
Davis struggles against my hold, and his legs flail as he tries to kick me. Arms wild, he’s intent on escaping, so I hit him where it hurts and knee him straight in the balls then kick his legs out from under him.
As he crumples to the ground, he chokes because I’m still holding him up by his throat.
That’s when I let go, long enough for him to slump but fast enough to snatch his hand. I snap his wrist, then I grab the other and pin it to the wall, thrusting my blade through the center of his palm to hold him in place, watching in satisfaction as he screams.
“My da would take a finger per lie, Davis. Unfortunately for you, sometimes you don’t have to kill to devastate someone’s life.” He nods at me. “Cade.”
Plucking another blade out of my pocket, I press the edge to his pointer finger and hold it steady. He bawls when I slide through the flesh and straight to the bone.
One by one, I rupture his livelihood, destroying fingers that have made his name, that have given him a God complex that’s devastated his little girl.
With each finger I cut off, as blood spurts and coats me, I accept that he’ll never know the pain he caused Belle, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to dole it back at him.
When I’m done, I retreat, watching him clutch at his arm as he tries to free himself from the knife pinning him. He slides in the blood pooling around him, his arms flailing against the blood-soaked wall.
“You’ll regret this,” he sobs, growing weaker from pain and blood loss with each word.
“The only thing I’ll regret is that I don’t get to kill you. But you go anywhere near your daughter, Davis,” I threaten, “and I won’t just give you a matching set—I’ll make sure that’s the last mistake you ever make.”
22
ISABELLE
It’s beenhours since Cade called. Neev just left for work so only Patricia, Kitty, and I remain, but even with their encouraging smiles, I know they’re getting worried.
“We need to try Cade again,” I mutter, interrupting Kitty who’s talking about yet another guy’s dick. Not a Stan’s this time, but an Andrew’s. I’m not sure why she sees so many but she has a tale for each one.
“Isabelle, you need to stay calm,” Patricia advises, in the process of checking on the shepherd’s pies she’s got cooking in the oven.
“I know something is wrong. I can feel it. He should have contacted me before now. He knows I’m scared.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know about that prank call. This happens all the—” Her phone rings. “It’s Lucas. Quiet,” Patricia orders, wiping her hands on her pants before connecting the call. “What’s happened?” She frowns. “I don’t understand. How is that possible? When is he getting out?”
My eyes dart to Kitty’s.
“Lucas, I don’t like this. Get your brother out of there! Ask Aidan! I don’t want him spending—” She rubs her head and turns toward us. “No, no. Of course I trust you to deal with this, but do it fast. Don’t keep me waiting, son.”
After she disconnects the call, she sets her phone beside the Glock in the middle of the table.
