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There were screams, but they were faint now, weaker than they’d been only an hour ago when he’d first arrived at the Storeroom.
Located on the other side of the city, the Storeroom was a special place where Odin and the rest of the Snow family dealt with particularly interesting people. Tonight, he’d had one of the Southwick underlings brought in and was dealing with the situation personally to blow off some steam.
Thanks to Hunter.
Odin growled low and shot forward, slamming his fist against Grind Alexander’s face. He dug his knuckles, tearing skin, and pulled back to deliver another punch for good measure. Usually, he had a bit more finesse than this, but tonight he was giving in to his frustrations.
Grind had worked directly under Booker Southwick, and though he’d claimed he’d had no idea what Booker had been planning regarding the drugs, it’d been quickly discovered that was far from the case. The Southwicks had rolled on him easily enough, but the man had gone on the run. Vetle had only just hunted him down and brought him in. Unfortunately for the middle-aged man, he’d chosen now of all times to slip up.
Odin stepped back, shaking out his fist, sending a couple of droplets of blood splattering to the already covered floor. A plastic sheet had been smoothed out beneath the metal chair Grind was zip-tied to, the soft plop plop of liquid hitting it resounding through the sudden quiet.
That and the man’s whimpers were the only things that filled the vast space for a while as Odin tried—and failed—to collect himself.
There was nothing he needed from Grind. They had proof that he’d helped Booker plan out their coup. He’d been the one to doll out the executions on the other chemists and had taken a large chunk of money from Booker’s safe the day before their treachery had been discovered.
Grind had worked for the Brumal since before Odin had become of age, and was roughly fifteen years his senior. It was disappointing that things had come to this, but that was all part of the business.
If a person couldn’t be loyal, they were removed from the equation. Grind wouldn’t make it through the night, not with all the injuries he’d already sustained, but Odin had to admit that he may have taken things a bit too far.
There were patches of burned flesh all over his body, the material of his grimy jeans melted in some places, the fibers of the fabric having sealed itself to Grind’s flesh like glue. Red, blistering welts covered both of his bare arms from where Odin had burned him, he was missing a couple of teeth.
“Do you remember Amb Mon?” Odin asked, and Grinds flinched, his sobs increasing. “She’s the daughter of Tan Mon.” One of the chemists that he’d shot in the head. “She’s graduating this year. Tan came to me a month ago asking if he could take a week off for a family vacation to celebrate. He told me all about the tickets he’d purchased later when I gave him the go-ahead.”
Odin took a step closer, easing up between the man’s spread knees. He reached forward and yanked his head back by Grind’s greasy dark hair, forcing him to make eye contact—as best he could, with both of his mostly swollen shut by this point. He clucked his tongue in disgust.
“They would have left today,” he continued, shaking his head roughly. “But you would have known that, right? You and Tan were close. Bet he didn’t see you coming before it was too late, did he.”
Sort of like how Odin hadn’t seen Hunter coming.
He’d followed him into the forest like a puppy.
He dug his nails into Grind’s scalp. “Because of you, she’s an orphan. Was it worth it?”
Grind tried to answer but Odin couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“Sir.” Vetle stepped forward then. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, must have just arrived.
Odin had ordered the warehouse cleared out so that it was just him, Grind, and the man’s pain-filled cries echoing around them. His men had the place surrounded, but they’d been told to keep out.
“What is it?” he snapped, letting go of Grind’s hair. With a scowl, he rubbed his palm against his thigh, trying to rid himself of the sweat that had smeared on from those greasy strands, and turned to toss his underboss an annoyed look. “Spit it out, V, I’m out of patience tonight.”
Vetle’s gaze wandered over to Grind, no doubt taking in all the damage. “I can see that.”
“Would you like a turn?”
“I can take over if you’d like.”
Odin quirked a brow. “You came here to tell me something. What is it?”
“There’s been another attack.” A wave of anger rolled off of Vetle, and Odin felt the heat waft toward him as though it were a live thing.
His power hummed and he inhaled slowly, fully aware that this buzzing sensation he hadn’t been able to shake all week was a dangerous one. Hunter had thrown him though, that night in the Room with a View, with that damn hungry expression in his whiskey eyes. Odin was pissed that he’d fallen for it. That he’d wanted to fall for it.
That he’d wanted to take the damn Huntsman against the couch, roughly, in front of Corbi and that woman and whoever else happened to walk in on them. Didn’t matter, so long as he’d finally get to know what it felt like to be balls deep inside of that hot little body of his and—
Flames sparked at the tips of Odin’s fingers and he growled.
“It happened at Ruby,” Vetle misunderstood his anger and said, referring to a small club that bordered Wren’s territory. “No one saw how it went down, and someone messed with the security feed beforehand.”
