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Another lie. Besides, no one ever mentioned him hurting my business. He gave that up himself with that comment. Not that I didn’t already know this, but like every other fool, you give them leeway and eventually they’ll hang themselves.
Jimmy Cross has been selling me out to the Fosters for a while now. He met with Alton just before they made the move to extort, and again just recently, running his mouth about London. He’s one of the reasons why Roberto’s wife is grieving the death of her cousin.
I nod, hand coming up to scratch my bare chest right over the all-seeing owl. “It’s been a huge misunderstanding, Jimmy, and I apologize. Please let me compensate you for this unfortunate event.”
“Only if that pleases you, boss.” He looks up at me from the floor, the right side of his face swelling. “I’ll be okay with a few days off just to rest.”
“Consider it done.” Turning to Javier, I give him a hard look. “Help him to a seat. I want him to witness how I deal with traitors. How I skin a rat and the man responsible for his beating.”
“That’s okay, boss. I just want to clean up and go home.”
“Take a seat, Cross. Sit and enjoy the show.” There’s no room for argument, and he nods, letting Javier help him. Once he’s comfortable to the right of the room, I walk to the door and open it, revealing a man on the floor with a guard holding a gun to his head.
The cleanup crew is silently awaiting orders too.
There’s a gasp, but I ignore it. Instead, I raise a hand and snap my fingers once. The boys know what to do, and without a word they carry the asshole inside while Javier keeps Jimmy in his seat. His hold is firm, and while the fight or flight kicks in, my now-freaking-out employee can do nothing about it.
He knows the man as the owner of a bar he frequents. Someone he places bets with here and there over the season of our Chicago Bulls. To whom he lost a lot of money not long ago on a rigged poker night.
Jimmy doesn’t consider him an enemy, but I do.
What they didn’t consider into their equation is my finding out. People talking.
Frank Lewis is a personal friend of Marcus, one Lieutenant Bristol’s uncle from his mother’s side, and the man responsible for the meeting between the Fosters and Jimmy. For luring my employee away with the temptation of a paid debt and enough money to walk away from everything, including his wife. For planting ideas in his head that were never set to become a reality.
Marcus and Frank would kill him if their plan came to fruition.
Unfortunately for Frank, I need Jimmy alive for just a little bit longer. He’s the head of the snake I must cut to terminate easy communication, to scramble their piece-of-shit wannabe network, and send them into hiding.
I want them desperate.
Afraid.
Crazy enough to make a few stupid moves.
My men drop his near-naked form between me and the ash-white security guard before taking their places once again. Frank’s body hits the cold concrete hard and he groans, head bouncing off the ground as he tries to get into a fetal position but can’t. It’s slow. His limbs aren’t cooperating.
Consciousness seems to be slipping, eyes rolling back, and I bring him back with a kick to his midsection. He cries out, shifting onto his back, choking on air while his body stiffens—trying to breathe through the pain.
Still, I land another. And another.
Each hit is direct and now aimed at his ribs. An area that is quickly turning an angry red while a welt appears from the tip of my shoe, the hard leather marking his skin as blood begins to pool at the surface. Bruising.
“Please stop,” he begs, coughing. Frank moves a hand to block my next direct kick, but I move last minute, landing the blow to the side of his leg. “Let’s work this out. I’ll tell you anything you want.”
“Anything I want? Is that right?” Kneeling, I grab his face, forcing his focus on mine. “What could you possibly say that will change the outcome here?”
His eyes flicker to Jimmy. “I know a few things.”
“Humor me.” I stand up and as I do, Carmelo and the other guard do the same with him, holding him up a few steps from me. “Tell me a story.”
“Marcus Foster isn’t your girlfriend’s father. It was all a lie.”
“Tell me a better story. Be original.” Shaking my limbs out, I stretch my neck.
He eyes me with distrust, fear radiating off his shaking form. “Alton wants her for his own—” I cut him off with a right hook to his jaw. At once he goes stiff and begins to fall back. The sole reason he doesn’t hit the ground again is my men.
“String him up.” Jimmy’s stench hits my nostrils, more potent now, and I turn to look at him. “Want to get cleaned up?”
