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“This is your second offense. You get one more.”
“But it’s the truth.” No, it isn’t. His eyes shift downward and a shiver runs through him, giving away his nervousness. Fear.
Moreover, he has every reason to be scared.
“Last chance,” I grit out, stretching my neck from side to side while my hand clenches around the golden handle. Adrenaline pulses through my veins—licks at the tips of my fingers as I drive the knife forward and into his stomach. Deep enough that I feel as it tears through flesh. Blood seeps from the wound, but I want more.
Twisting the blade, I pull it halfway out and take a step back—leave it right where it is below his belly button. “Are you ready to be honest with me now?”
“I’m telling you…fuck!” he yells out as the heel of my shoe kicks the weapon in deeper. I bury it—lodge it within his stomach where only half the handle is left visible.
Michael shifts in his chair, trying to stand, pulling my attention back to him. “Please stop.”
“Why should I?” Another strike; this time I land a punch to the right side of his friend’s ribs. He cries out a curse, body trying to fold into itself. It’s a mistake, one that causes him to freeze when the pain magnifies.
“Please stop. I’m not lying.”
“Boss, we’re so sorry. It was a huge—”
Michael’s word die as Javier places a gun to his temple. “Placing a bullet in you will be a pleasure, one that my boss won’t begrudge me for. Keep testing his patience.”
“Michael, please, son, stay quiet!”
With a smirk, I nod at Javi and watch with pleasure as he pistol-whips the idiot across the face, breaking his nose in the process. “Listen to your father, Michael.”
“No more,” he says, his tone tinged with pain. Regret.
I can almost taste his acceptance. Can see the glimpse of resolve in his eyes.
“That’s up to you. If you sit there silently, things will progress without further incident. Talk, and…” I trail off as Javier lands a second direct hit, and a gash opens over the bridge of his nose. Rivulets of red pour down his face and neck, staining his chest with his life’s essence. “Understood?”
With his right eye beginning to swell, Michael nods and looks back at the piece of shit still strung up. At the man who befriended him with one goal in mind: getting to me.
He’s finally understanding that someone needs to pay, and it’s either him or…
Grabbing the end of the knife, I pull out the handle, leaving the blade inside. At once he screams, the anguished sound rending the air as I slide it up his flesh.
More blood seeps from the wound; my hands are soaked. “Lying to me was your biggest mistake.” His pain is not enough. Another inch up, and I stop. “You’re second was not being smart enough to hide your tracks.”
At this his eyes widen, lips parting to deny what we both know to be the truth, but I shake my head. Moreover, the idiot listens for once and closes his pale lips.
“Your name is Phillip Mitchell…” the knife slices upward a bit more and he strains to move away from me “…and you take on certain jobs for the head of EMB Financial Group. The same man I turned down three weeks ago, when he asked that we merge a certain department—the one you demanded twenty million dollars for in exchange for your silence.”
I pause and look down, admiring the clean line that starts below his belly button and stops at the center of his abdomen. It’s deep, but not enough to kill him yet, although the internal damage is done.
His life’s essence is slowly bathing my floor with each drop that splashes below.
“End me already,” Phillip groans, head lolling forward from the loss of blood. He’s dying.
“Not until you tell me why Jonathan sent you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then who?” Because we both know he isn’t working for himself. Phillip is nothing more than a low-level soldier—a follower—and this entire bullshit scheme didn’t come from his simpleton mind.
I’ve read his rap sheet. Know where he lives and whom he associates himself with, and none have a position of wealth or power in Chicago. They’re nothing more than thugs and “wannabe” gangsters that admire TV crime lords and wish to live a life of infamy.
“No one—”
