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This was no teenage prank gone wrong.
The little fucker had an agenda.
“Thanks. He won’t be doing that again after tonight. I can promise you that much.”
They laughed and hurried out of the warehouse.
I walked circles around the little prick, scuffing my shoes on the dusty concrete floor. His chest rose and fell like crazy—obviously he was panicked.
It took me a while to think about exactly how to handle this.
When I was confident, I stopped in front of him and ripped the duct tape off his miserable mouth in one, quick motion.
“Fuck you,” he said, twisting his head to the side in pain. He was such a pathetic sight, I wanted to laugh.
“No, fuck you!” I said, angry as hell at him. “What the hell were you doing in my office?” I asked, waiting for an answer.
“Seeing what kind of shit you’re into. I wonder what Eve’s going to think when she knows who she’s fucking every night,” he spat out at me.
Now I really wanted to kill him.
“You’re going to tell her absolutely nothing,” I said, standing behind him, holding the knife to his throat. “I love your sister. She’s mine.”
“Ha, she won’t be once she knows what you’re involved in,” he said with a forced laugh.
I slapped him good and hard across his sniveling face. “You do that, and it’ll be the last fucking thing you ever do.”
His cheek turned a bright red, but I hadn’t broken the skin. “And it’ll be the last time you fuck my sister!” he screamed at me, his eyes tearing up now.
I grabbed him around his throat. “Let’s get one thing straight between you and me,” I said, lifting him up until I saw pain register on his face. I had to hand it to him—most guys would have cried uncle by now. “I own this fucking town. I own your sister. And,” I said, lifting him up further, “I own you.”
He screamed out in agony until I dropped him down.
His chair landed with a loud, jarring thunk.
“Do you know who’s paying for your lawyer? Do you know who paid for your bail?” I bent down and shouted at him, “Me. And I can either save your ass—or send you up the river for as long as I fucking want. Now tell me who sent you?”
“Nobody.”
I kicked one of the legs of the chair, spinning him around. It cracked off and flew to the side, but he still kept it balanced with his feet.
“Try again!” I screamed, ready to send him flying with the next kick.
“Why should I tell you? I don’t care about going to jail!”
I kicked another leg of the chair, this time the whole thing toppled over—Asher included.
As I bent down, I used my knife and ran it down his cheek, passed his neck and kept going. “You know what they’ll call you in jail, my friend?” I said in the most sadistic voice possible.
My knife dragged down his chest and stomach until it stopped between his legs. He let out a whimper. “Fresh meat,” I said with a smile. “Yeah, you’re gonna be real popular the first few weeks.” I pressed the knife in further, but still not cutting him. “Everyone will want to get up close and personal with a pretty, young boy like you.”
He shut his eyes and started crying.
Finally.
“Is that what you want? To be some rapist’s boy toy?”
“Castaneda,” he whispered, barely audible.
