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At first, they scream for mercy, and their pleas echo off the cold, blank walls, but it falls on deaf ears. Nothing but the truth will end their suffering. Victor is relentless, his methods unkind but effective. Every now and then, the metallicclinkof the pliers meeting teeth reverberates through the room, followed by a blood-curdling scream. It's gruesome, but this is our world. It’s harsh and unforgiving. We are monsters in the eyes of many, but we do what we must to protect our own.
I put down the blood-covered metal rod before picking up the brass knuckles. “Still won’t tell me what I want to know?” I say just before my fist connects with his jaw.
The man groans in pain, but it’s not enough. I punch him again, this time in the stomach. He’s covered in blood, his eyes are swollen shut, and he’s missing a few teeth, but he can still talk. I go on and on, hitting him, and he lasts longer than I thought he would, giving nothing up. If he were one of my men, I’d be proud of how strong he is, but he’s not. The Hawthorns will be collecting his body, and they have no one to blame but themselves for his death. I have no sympathy because he chose the wrong side, the wrong people to fuck with, and his death is his reward.
My patience is all but gone as I move to the next man. I return to the steel rod, its cool weight a grim promise of what's to come. The first blow lands with a sickeningthudand bones crunching under the force. Agony-filled screams ricochet off the walls like a chilling symphony of pain and desperation.
“Are you going to go out like your friend, or tell me what I want to know?” I ask him.
“Fuck you, man,” he spits at me. “The Hawthorns will kill me.”
I swing again and smile at the scream he lets loose. “I’m going to kill you. The Hawthorns are the least of your troubles.”
The interrogation continues. Our patience yields little but the blood-curdling screams of Hawthorn's men. My fists clench around the steel rod, and each blow lands with the force of a truck. Minutes turn into hours, the passage of time marked by the growing desperation in their pleas. Every bone crushed, every tooth pulled, only hardens my resolve.
Their resistance infuriates me. It’s a slow-burning rage that fuels my determination. Questions hang in the air, the silence between their screams tormenting me with its emptiness. Despite the sound of their wails, there's a deafening silence that fills the room when we’re done. The silence of unanswered questions. The only thing we know is that the Hawthorns want more money.
Finally, Victor and I emerge from the room with our clothes splattered with blood. Our faces are twisted, and our anger is simmering beneath the surface, fueled by the stubborn resolve of Hawthorn's men. The scent of fear and blood clings to us, a bitter reminder of the fruitless hours spent in the interrogation room. Victor and I step outside, and the cool night air cools the tension inside me.
"So, the Hawthorns want more money," I mutter as I wipe my bloody hands clean. "They're disrupting our trade. What the fuck do they need more money for? They’re almost as wealthy as us."
"Yeah," Victor replies, running a hand through his hair. "But that's not all. The last guy... he said something strange."
My attention snaps to him. "What did he say?"
Victor hesitates before speaking. "He mentioned a player... a silent one. That we have no idea what’s happening."
I scowl. “What did he say exactly?"
Victor shifts uncomfortably. "He said, 'You think you've got all the players on the board, but what about the silent one? There’s an informant. The one closest to you, yet farthest from your world.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut as a wave of confusion washes over me. A mole? Among us?
"Start snooping around, Vic," I command, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning within me. Just as I say that, out walks Jackson, his casual demeanor contrasting the heavy tension hanging in the air.
"You guys look like shit," he remarks, eyeing our bloodied clothes and the dark.
I shoot him a cold look before responding. "One of them said something...strange," I start, my voice low and serious. "He talked about an informant. Someone close to us."
Jackson's casual demeanor vanishes, his eyes narrowing at the serious tone of my words. "Who do you think it is?" he asks, his voice just above a whisper.
"I don't know," I admit, with my hands balling into fists at my sides. "That's why I need you to keep your eyes and ears open, Jackson. We need to figure out who this person is...and fast."
Jackson nods, understanding the urgency of the situation. “I spoke to Aurora before coming out here. Of course, she was whining about her birthday being during the week and that if she had a party on her actual birthday, nobody would come. Since it’s the weekend, I told her we’d have a party at my house tomorrow for her. Now, we have to deal with a supposed informant, but you know we can’t cancel the party. Aurora will have a fit, and it will make us look bad.
I sigh once again in agitation. “Fine, what time is the party?”
“It starts at seven, so be on time,” Jackson says before walking away.
The stench of blood and fear still lingers on my skin. I can't help but think about the success we've had with the weapons and the power it's given us. Now, the stubborn silence of Hawthorn's men, has left us in the dark. We have an informant, a mole within our ranks. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
As I run through a list of names in my head, one name stands out, Isabella. Everything was fine before she showed up. Our operations were running smoothly, and our territories were secure. I’ll have Victor keep an eye on her from this point on, just to be sure. This isn’t a coincidence.
"Clean up this mess," I instruct the men. "And clear out, we're done here for the night."
Victor and I leave the warehouse with the sounds of cleaning echoing behind us. The tension still lingers, but we'll get through this. We always do.
7
