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He nods. “No, the fucking jazz band.”
“I don’t know anything about them, honestly. I met a few of them in Angel Harbor while I was waiting on my truck, but not enough to say Iknowthem.”
He laughs, closing the gap between us until he looms over me. I can tell he’s working hard to appear intimidating. “What were you shipping for Morgan International?”
“No clue. I picked up the trailer already sealed.”
His hand comes from nowhere in a perfect backhand arc across my face. “Don’t. Fucking. Lie. To. Me.”
“Fuck,” I grunt. “That hurt.”
“That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you if you lie to me again. I know you know them, and I know you’re fucking one of them. Tell me the fucking truth. Or else.”
Maybe that smack cleared the fog from my brain because it’s all starting to make sense to me. None of the questions are about me. They’re about the shipment, Morgan International, and me fucking Diesel.
“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I promise you have it all twisted around. I don’t work for Morgan International, and I don’t know anything about the Reckless Souls. This was my first job for Morgan, and I spent a few hours partying with a biker dude and his friends. That’s it.”
I can already tell he doesn’t like that answer, and I brace myself for the next hit.
“Tiny! Get your fat ass in here.”
“Look, my truck broke down, and they directed me to Morgan International, where I met Diesel, who fixed it. We hung out while waiting for the parts to come in, and then I got back on the road where you stopped me.”
Tiny appears, looking as menacing as ever with a blank expression on his face. “Yeah, Boss?”
“She’s not cooperating,” Boss says, nodding in my direction.
“All right.” Tiny’s voice is quiet as he steps inside, removing a long canvas roll from under his arm. He unrolls it across a table against the wall. “Teeth or fingernails first?”
The chill that runs down my spine is unstoppable, just like the gasp that escapes at the easy way he asks such a devastating question.
“I don’t give a fuck, just get me some fucking answers!”
I stare at both men as I try to ignore the loud pounding in my head, the panic that’s starting to rise as Tiny checks out his torture tools. “Th-there’s no need for any of…that.” I nod at Tiny and his kit.
“It is because you won’t tell me the goddamn truth!”
My shoulders sag. How can I get out of this if this man is determined not to believe me?
“I am telling you the truth, but you don’t want to hear it. Who are you anyway?”
“Nonya business who I am. I need you to tell me everything you know and do it now.”
“I don’t know anything.”
Tiny, the fat son of a bitch, grips my middle finger with a set of pliers and rips my fingernail from the root.
“Ow! Stop! Son of a motherfucking bitch!” Blood pours from my finger. “Holy mother of fuck, that shit hurts!” I clench my jaws tight against the pain and the urge to cry as tears burn my eyes.
“One more time,” he sighs. “Tell me everything you know about the Reckless Souls.”
“I already did,” I say with a whimper. I let out another anguished cry because I can’t focus on anything but how much it hurts.
Tiny grabs another finger and lines up the pliers with my pinky nail, prepared to yank it out.
“Okay. Okay, wait. Please.” I plead for my life, but I look up at Tiny and then Ghost with tears in my eyes. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Ghost says with a menacing smile.
