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But Vin interrupts him and tilts his head with a devious grin on his lips. The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking pulls the man’s attention down to his crotch.
“Door, please.” Vin jerks the gun, and the man sucks in a breath. He attempts to protest, but something in the way Vin tilts his head and looks at him makes him pause.
“O-open it,” he tells the other one.
Hisfriendfollows the order, holding the door open for us.
“If any of you dare to even look at us the wrong way, I’ll pry your eyes out with my fingers and feed them to each other.”
On that disturbing image Vin leaves us with, we all pass through the door, walking straight to the room where we know their boss is. Two other men stand by the door.
“Gentlemen. A word with your boss, if we may.” Finn approaches, but one of the gorillas standing there scoffs without even looking at him.
We surround the men, staring them down until one of them rolls his eyes and enters the room, leaving us there to wait. When the door opens again, he moves out of the way to let us pass. I nod to two of our men and they remain outside. The door closes behind us, and we’re met with a twelve-seater table, but only two of the chairs are empty.
“Let me guess, you’re here to piss on the walls and let me know it’s your turf.”
I raise my eyebrows and turn toward the owner of that voice—Roberto Bartiste himself. I get it now. As average looking as he is, there is nothing average about that filthy look in his eyes, the weirdly curved shape of his lips, and those inward tilted teeth exposed to us as he blows out the smoke of his harsh cigar.
“We have toilets in this part of the country, and the only thing that wets our walls is the blood of the people who think they can piss on them.” I take a step forward, looking at the man who sits at the end of the table. “What’s your business here?”
He glares at me, like I disrespected him in his house. But this ismygoddamn house.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, boy.”
Boy…I force myself not to grit my teeth or pull my gun out and sink a bullet between his eyes right here. The only thing stopping me is how outnumbered we are in this small room. We have to play our cards right.
“You’re on our territory, old man,” I bite out at his reference of me, enjoying the twitch of his mouth, “and nothing moves around here without us. Now, I will ask one last time, what’s your goddamn business here?”
He leans back in his chair, taking another puff of his cigar.
“No business. Just pleasure,” he says, a sleazy grin pulling at his lips.
His attention is suddenly shifted next to me, his expression faltering for a mere second, enough for me to know there’s something in Vin’s eyes that makes him uncomfortable. I let it sink in for a moment longer.
“There’s no pleasure for you in Queenscove, Bartiste,” I all but growl. “We know what you do, what you deal in. There’s no place for you here at all.”
His whole expression mutates. If I thought the man’s aura was doused in filth, it’s goddamn dripping off him now.
“You have the pleasure of knowing my name, but I don’t know yours.”
He takes another puff of that cigar, filling the room with its sickly scent.
“You can pretend all you want that you don’t know who we are. Just like we’re pretending we don’t know why you’re actually in Queenscove.” Finn speaks, and for a moment, I want to punch him.
We needed to hold on to some advantage. But I’m itching as well to lay all the cards on the table and get this over and done with.
“Name your price,” he continues.
Surprise flashes in Bartiste’s features, quickly morphing into a widening grin.
“They got you boys too, didn’t they? Little whores. It was only a matter of time until some suckers fell for their charms and did their dirty work.”
Finn seethes, ready to pounce at the man, and I take a deep, painful breath.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warn. This asshole thrives on weakness, and I’ll fucking die before I show him any.
“The only way I’m leaving this place is with those bitches gagged and bound in the back of my car.”
