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Bait? Bait—oh, God, it's a trap. Connor—no!
Teagan was still talking, even as he walked over to a side table and took a long pull off the bottle that was sitting there. “Moretti fed him a line of bullshit about using you as a hostage for a merger, but we all knew lover-boy was coming for you in the end. Not very bright, your man. As if we’d actually let any of you walk away after everything that’s gone down.”
Anger flared, and despite my fear and pain, I growled up at him, speaking for the first time. “Not g-gonna work, you sick fuck. He’ll never fall for it. Connor McTiernan is going to tear your world apart, and you’ll be b-begging for death before the end.”
“Oh honey. Don’t you see? You’re his weakness. He’d do anything for you.” Teagan laughed and shook his head. “No, Connor is coming, and when he gets here I’m gonna make him watch while I take every last thing from you, right before I put a bullet in his brain.”
It was said so matter-of-fact, like I was the delusional one, and his words chilled me to the bone.
“But before he gets here, though, I’m gonna have a little taste.”
He started to reach for his belt buckle.
29
Connor
"Fuckyou."Jackspatat me.
For the past hour, I had been working Jack over like he was my own personal punching bag, while Alfie calmly stood clear of the blood spatter and asked the questions. The fearsome rage on my face was terrible to behold, even worse than the sounds of Jack’s screams as I broke each one of his fingers.
“Where did Teagan take her?” Alfie asked again.
"Hand me the bat, Connor," Tommy held his hand out. "Let me ask him."
Silence, then a scream as the bat connected with his shin.
We were getting nowhere. Tommy and I were master interrogators—not an accolade I was particularly proud of, but one I’d earned the hard way. It was something we both understood. Years of being beaten ourselves, first by bullies at school and then later by rival families when we’d had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of an interrogation. Fights, scraps, what-have-you. We both knew how much pain the human body could take, and exactly where to inflict the most of it without compromising the victim.
I didn’t say a word as Tommy and I worked on Jack. Coldly landing blow after blow, slipping my knife into the soft flesh where I knew it would hurt the most but do little in the way of permanent damage.
But Jack still refused to crack.
We’d found him, not at the OTB lounge, but shacked up with a sex worker three blocks away. The lounge’s bartender hadn’t wanted to give up the address at first, but one look at my face and the man quickly dimed his friend out.
From there it was just the same old game. Questions and answers. Once we’d found the town car abandoned in Back Bay, Alfie had the hunch we had been headed up to Cambridge.
There was rumor that Moretti owned some property up there, but they didn’t have the address.
“…jus’ g-gonna kill me ‘nyway,” Jack slurred.
“That’s a given,” Alfie said dryly. “But it’s up to you how hard you go out. Answer the question.”
I was shaking. Not my whole body, but in my hands, ever so slightly. I was at the end of my limits emotionally, and honestly, I didn't know what was stopping me from ripping Jack's throat out.
Fuck restraint. Enough of this bullshit.
I calmly plucked my knife from the table. Eyes never leaving Jack's, I bent down and placed the tip of the blade just below the man’s lower eyelid. I pressed. Jack choked, and his eye started to bulge against the socket.
I saw it, saw the fury there, and realized we were at endgame.
“Here’s where we start cuttin’ off things that you want,” I said. “So…last chance. Where is she?”
Jack blurted out an address, his eyes wide and rolling.
I removed the knife and looked over at Alfie to make sure he got the address down. He nodded.
In one swift movement, my hand shot out, connecting with Jack's throat with a sickening snap. Jack jerked and writhed in the chair, choking as he struggled to draw air through his crushed windpipe.
