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“Yay,” I say, inserting some joy into my words because these fuckers have forgotten one thing, and haven’t studied me as well as they believe they have. I still have my motherfucking necktie strung around my neck, it’s always at my beck and call, and it’s one of my favorite tools to put to use. I’ve learned its many uses, and it’s become an extension of me.
I’m damn good at what I do, and throughout the years, I’ve learned to deal with, as well as adjust to pain, and with that being acknowledged, I can say, without any hesitancy, that pain no longer fazes me. I don’t succumb to it, I embrace it like a long, lost friend.
“Enjoy this time, Luca,” Graham addresses me as if we’ve been acquainted on a personal level before this shit, which we have not.
“Only my friends or people I like call me Luca,” I inform him.
“And what do the rest of us peons call you?” Graham asks, crossing his arms across his chest and leering at me with irritation.
“You can call me, Mister Widowmaker,” I say, smirking.
“I don’t have a wife to make a widow,Luca,” he states, stressing my name.
“Don’t you?” I ask, slanting my head the best I can in my reclined position.
Graham’s body tightens, his breath quickens, and his voice becomes strained when he asks, “And what? You think I have a wife? Where have you been getting your false information?”
“Is it though? False information that is,Graham? Or do you have a sweet little thing holed up in the mountains of El Paso?” I taunt, rolling the questions out not giving a damn if they hurt his touchy sensibilities. We all hurt sometimes, and I can’t find it in me to pussyfoot around his emotions, I need to trigger him. “The people I have at my disposal are very good at digging up data that others try to bury.”
“I don’t know what it is you think you know,Luca, but I’m here to tell you, whatever evidence you think you’ve uncovered, it’s wrong,” he says, trying hard to convince me.
However, his argument just reinforces what has been shared with me. He’s protective of his petite Spanish mistress, they may have snuck across the border to legally tie the knot, but if you dig deep enough in the right places for concrete evidence, nothing is buried deep enough that it can’t be unearthed.
And my guy, he struck gold when he went scooping for as much information as possible that could be used against the Crumley brothers. He discovered this key piece of detail when we found out about Shayne. Julius knows all about her, I wouldn’t keep him in the dark about her existence, but we’ve chosen to keep Graham’s wife out of it unless he gives us no other choice. Hopefully, it doesn’t come down to using this innocent woman as a way to bring the Hammer to his knees, but we aren’t above doing just that if the circumstances warrant it, and I’m sure we’re fixing to hit that unfortunate crossroad.
“I think, Luca.” He pauses, canting his head to the side before bending at the waist, and getting into my face. “You talk too damn much, and what you’re saying, it’s gonna land you six feet under.”
“We’ve all gotta go some time,Graham,” I rebut, aggravating him because being tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey, using my mouth is the only way I can get to him—it’s my only weapon.
“I’m going to tear you from limb to limb,” Graham snarlingly threatens me.
“Untie me and I’ll be your Huckleberry,” I taunt, hoping he lets his ego get the better of him.
“You can’t stand on your own two feet,” he counters. “Maybe once you’re a little steadier, my brothers will let you and me go a round.”
“Name the time and place, and I’ll be there, Graham.”
“Looking forward to it, Luca.” He raps his knuckles on my steel slab before walking out the door as if we’d never had this little confrontation.
I hate that asshole.
* * *
The psycho doc begins administering the saline drip into my IV, and as soon as the cold liquid hits my veins, a startled scream reverberates through the building. I’d know that voice anywhere, and the second I begin thrashing around, my onlookers begin chuckling.
“Sounds like our other guest is getting the hose,” the dead fucker number one says, mirth laced in his tone.
“I’d have thought they’d have gone with the sponge bath route,” dead fucker number two scoffs. “That’s the choice I would’ve gone with. Have you seen her body? She's stacked like a brick shithouse. I’d have been the first in line to wash every square inch of her body.” He waggles his eyebrows, takes both of his hands, cups them, and jiggles them at his chest, pretending to have an abundance of tits.
Piece of shit.
Someone’s about to die.
I narrow my eyes and decide that he’s the first to walk the long green mile toward his death maker—me. His demise will be from my hands.
They’re going to die. Every goddamn last one of them. I’m done playing mister nice guy, Julius and the troops better get here before I have no other alternative than to take matters into my own hands.
Fuck the consequences.
