AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“My heart bleeds,” Sebastian stated flatly. Pulling his pistol, Sebastian cocked the safety and aimed at the man’s head. “Answer the question, Neil. I’m very tired of repeating myself.”
“I don’t know who it was! He came in here flashing a badge, same as you.”
“Give me a name.”
“I didn’t care to catch it, but he was a tall fellow. Real skinny with a pinched face and a beaky nose.”
That little tidbit caught his interest. Finally, it seemed the man had something worthwhile to say. Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head and pulled the folded pieces of paper out of his pocket. Shaking them open with one hand, he spread them on the counter and motioned Neil forward with his gun.
“Do you recognize him in any of these?”
The man selected the picture of Frank Burrel without any hesitation. His stubby finger jabbed at the image emphatically. “That’s him. That one right there,” he exclaimed.
If it weren’t for the cold prickle worming along his spine or the familiar burn starting to fester in his stomach, Sebastian would have been amused by the man’s sudden shift. Instead of spitting venom, the poor fool was grinning and damn near squirming with excitement, like a puppy seeking approval from its master. Smirking to himself, he resisted the urge to pat the man’s head and offer a bit of praise. The grease shimmering on those dull grey strands alone was enough of a deterrent.
His humor faded as his thoughts returned to Frank Burrel. He’d warned the gangly Ichabod Crane looking fuck to stay away from his family. Apparently, those precious words of advice had gone unheeded. After reholstering his gun, he flexed his fists, knotting them until the stiff leather gloves encasing his hands started to creak. Neil whipped around, his eyes wide and fearful, but Sebastian paid him no heed. Ignoring the man, he pointed to the pictures again.
“Do you recognize anyone else from these photos?”
The shop owner shifted, wavering on his feet. A strained swallow pushed past his throat as he lowered his head in an attempt to avoid Sebastian’s gaze.
“Answer me.”
“This man,” Neil whispered, indicating to a photo of Marx. “He came in after the other guy left. He’s the one who insisted I hand over the security tapes. When I refused, he busted my system and took them anyway.” Gone was the fire and fight. Gripping the ledge of the counter, the man kept his head lowered. “I don’t know who he was or what he wanted, but I am telling you the God’s honest truth when I say that man scared the ever living hell out of me. You might as well be the Devil himself as far as I am concerned, and your partner wasn’t no better, but that big bulky one…he damn near made me shit my pants.”
Sebastian’s lips quirked at the corners, but he was far from amused. His rage swelled, growing into a damn near smothering fury. There was shock, but beneath that was the bitter sting of deceit and betrayal. The wounds cut far deeper than he cared to admit. Straightening, Sebastian nodded and scrubbed his hand across the rough stubble coating his chin.
It took him another moment to calm down enough to find his voice. “Don’t underestimate me, Mr. Vant. Few people live long enough to make that mistake twice. Did you happen to pass this information about who you saw here and what happened to the security tapes along to my partner when he asked?”
Lifting his head, the man mustered enough courage to meet his eyes. “No, sir. There wasn’t no need. Your partner came in right when that other guy was leaving. They came in close enough together that I watched them tip their chins in greeting on their way past.”
Craning his head, Sebastian stared down at the shop owner, his need for vengeance rising. Josh knew Marx had been there. He knew what had happened to the tapes. More than that, he had lied to him, deceived him while staring him straight in his face. His fingers flexed at his sides, aching to feel the cold, familiar weight of his gun again. His chest felt like it had been doused in gasoline and whether he meant to or not, Neil had struck that match. His mind reeled while his body struggled not to wrench his pistol free and blow a gaping hole into the man’s face.
He wanted that. He needed that release.
He wanted blood.
He wanted suffering, but more than anything, he just wanted to make someone fucking pay. Gritting his teeth, he offered a cold, venomous smile.
“Consider this your lucky day, Neil. I’m going to let you live, but if I were you, I would pray that you never cross my path again.”
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. The stark terror and death-like pall still haunting the man’s features was the only response he needed.
His mood hadn’t improved any by the time he pushed his way inside SKALS’ doors. There was always a grim somberness cloaking the building that blotted out the light and settled clear down to the depths of his bones. It filled him with rage and resentment just to be there. Disparity and dread filled every atom in the stale, chilly air. His mood only soured when he rounded the corner to see Marx pushing his way down the corridor and barreling his way. The wide berth of the commander’s upper body was hunched and lowered, and the look of discontentment stamping his face so severe that Sebastian wondered if he was going to charge. His gaze dropped to the man’s ham-sized fists and his stomach sank upon noting the way they were locked with rage.
He’d taken plenty of beatings from those wrecking balls over the years. Some deserved, some uncalled for, but none of them had ever been pleasant. Things had changed since then. He was no longer compliant. No longer a willing soldier, but smoldering with unspoken hatred and rage. That type of confrontation might very well be the last nudge needed to push him over the edge.
He stopped, lifting his chin to meet the director’s heated stare head on as his boss approached.
“Just where the hell have you been?” Marx asked, his voice a low, thundering growl.
“I had a quick stop to make,” Sebastian replied, striving to keep his tone even. “I was following up on an investigation.”
The commander’s ebony eyes narrowed in a chilling precursor to his snort. “Would this follow up of yours have anything to do with Jack Gill?”
“Who?”
“Don’t get cute with me, Sebastian. You know damn well who he is. He called your office this morning.”
A tingling numbness suffused his face. Steeling his jaw, he refused to let the turbulence show. Instead, he offered a passive shrug. “Did he leave a message?”
“No. He said he was tied up for the rest of the day and would try to get back to you tomorrow. Do you want to tell me what this little exchange is about?”
“I am assuming he has some questions about the shooting. How the hell should I know? If you are so damn curious, maybe you should have asked him yourself.”
The commander’s jaw jutted. His smooth, brown skin glistened with tiny drops of sweat despite the frigid blast of air-conditioning blustering down on them from the overhead vents. It was a telling sign of his anger. Then, without warning, his demeanor changed. His expression grew pensive as he stroked his thumb over the thin line of his moustache.
“Interesting. I would think after last night’s unpleasant debacle you would be more contrite.”
“I’d cut your throat if given half the chance, Marx. Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to kiss your ass.”
Much to his surprise, the man laughed.
“Still full of passion and fire, I see. You never disappoint me that way, Sebastian. Take a few minutes out of your day and follow me.”
He’d sooner saw off his own arm with a rusty butter knife, but seeing no other choice in the matter, he reluctantly complied. Keeping his steps slow, he followed Marx through the dim, twisted labyrinth of halls until they neared a door he knew all too well. It was Irene’s cell. The one place he’d tried to avoid at all costs. The dual guards stationed outside the room flashed him a brief look of pity and an unpleasant burn rose, searing the back of his throat. He had no desire to see the woman again, let alone witness the horrific side effects of whatever sick games Marx had decided to play.
He braced himself, watching as the commander smiled and turned to unlock the cell. Part of him hoped the bastard had grown tired of her company and the room would be vacant or occupied by someone else. However, he knew that wasn’t the case the moment Marx opened the door.
The smell hit him first. It was a potent, vile combination of fear, blood, and sweat. He grimaced, trying his damnedest to block it out, but it smelled as if something had died and been left to rot in the sun for weeks. Marx swung the door open and the heavy steel barrier scraped against concrete. The noise was akin to nails raking down a chalkboard and enough to send Irene scuttling. Her gaunt limbs flailed in their attempt to gain traction as she scurried across the floor.
Keeping her back to them, she huddled in the corner, her pale skin glowing starkly against the dark cement walls. Vicious tremors wracked her emaciated form, each one accentuated by the loud chattering of her teeth. Sebastian stood rooted, watching her, all too aware of Marx’s assessing gaze as it tracked the reactions on his face.
