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I jut my chin toward the parking lot. “We’re here. Pull over.”
“I have more—”
“Unfortunately, you’re out of time.”
I get out of the car and he follows, slamming the door behind him. I notice he doesn’t bring the tape recorder with him. Pity. It might’ve saved him some pain.
“That wasn’t a legitimate interview,” he sneers, jabbing a finger in my face. “You lied about everything.”
“I agreed to talk to you. I kept my word. It’s not my fault or my problem if you don’t believe me.”
His jaw clenches. “Well, then you leave me no choice but to makehertalk.”
I check over each shoulder to make sure we’re alone. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I lunge forward, palm his throat, and pin him to the brick wall at his back. “You go within a fucking mile of her or her family and I willdestroyyou.”
He splutters, pawing uselessly at my arms. I hold him there for one more beat, his feet flinging in every direction, before I set him back down with a grimace.
“Well, well,” he croaks, trying to clear his throat a few times. “I can’t imagine what I’ll find if I dig intothatrelationship.”
Great. I overreacted. The last thing this smarmy fuck needed was a reason to keep poking around.
Time to backslide into Plan A.
He’s standing there, smirking, at the perfect angle when my fist connects with his face in a quick jab. He goes down so easily that, as I feel cartilage crunch under my knuckles, I start to wonder idly if he’d even survive a full-on beatdown.
“Fuck!” His hand reaches up to assess the damage. “You—you broke my fucking nose!”
“Trust me: it’s an improvement.”
Blood runs down his hand and he keeps touching his nose, the bridge of which is pointing in a different direction than it was a moment ago.
“Fuck,” he groans nasally. “My nose. My fucking nose!”
“You’re lucky I brokeonlyyour nose,” I snarl, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hauling him toward me. “Stay the fuck away from her. You hear me?”
His eyes widen and he nods hard. I shove him back just as Kirill rounds the corner in his silver Maserati.
Remmy trips on the parking block and lands on his ass in the gravel. He’s shaking hard and clawing at the rocks, tainting the dirt with his blood. He gulps as Kirill gets out of the car and walks over.
“Started the party without me, did ya?” my second-in-command asks.
“W-what are you g-gonna do to me?” Jefferson stammers. Blood keeps pouring down his upper lip in a thick stream.
Kirill throws him a disgusted look, then glances at me. “Excellent question. What do you think, sir?”
My gaze slides over the runty reporter. Honestly, he’s too fucking pathetic to kill. And I’m pretty sure he’s got the message loud and clear. Still—I didn’t earn my reputation by being lenient.
“Let’s give him a new zip code, shall we?”
Kirill raises his eyebrows. “That all?”
“Y-you can’t do this. There are people who will look for me!” Jefferson insists.
“I very much doubt that.” I squat down in front of him. A brilliant purple bruise has already started to form around his nose and beneath his eyes. “Although, to be fair, if youevergo near her again, I will most certainly be looking for you.”
Now, even his bottom lip is quivering. A second later, the stench of ammonia stings my nostrils. I look down between his legs.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
