Page 53 of Damon

“I’m not dead,” the stupid little shit says back, and Hunter laughs out loud.

“Not yet,” I respond, coming to a stop in front of him. “But if you haven’t worked it out yet, you will be. Now the question is how said death will occur. If you tell me what I want to hear, then it will be less painful. I can’t promise a swift death because all of us here want to make you suffer, but I can promise to limit the agony.”

“Why should I tell you anything? My friends will be looking for me.”

“Friends?” I question, raising an eyebrow. “You mean fellow gang members. I can assure you, Jed, you will be very low on their priority list. Another dispensable pawn in their game. And even if they did care enough to look, do you really think they’d find you here?” I lift my arms and signal to our surroundings.

“You,” Jed growls, focusing on Luke who takes a step backward. Greyson places a hand on the boy’s lower back, encouraging him forward. “Traitor. You’ll meet a watery grave for this.”

“How the fuck would you know?” Hunter says, bored. “You’re bottom of the pile, and you’ll be dead. You picked the wrong gang, admit it. You and I both know no one will miss you. Not even your mother.”

“Who ordered the hit on Connie McKinney?” Harrison pipes up, obviously wanting to move the situation along. He shrugs out of his insanely expensive suit jacket and places it over a box I see sitting to his righthand side. Beside the box, a large black sheet is laid out; on top of it is an array of tools and knives.

“Don’t know her,” Jed replies, his eyes looking everywhere except the man who asked the question.

“Okay,” Harrison says. Hunter bristles beside me and Russell’s hands ball into fists in frustration. “Who ordered the hit on the woman you shot dead in the Moneysave parking lot last year?”

“Which one?” the arrogant little shit says, and smiles.

“It’s your funeral,” Harrison tells him with a shrug. “But take my advice, answer my questions before I let either of these two loose.” He signals to Hunter and Russell with his chin. “Or worse, the husband of the woman you murdered.” My friend looks directly at me. “Because if you don’t give me a name now, they’ll cut it out of you.”

“Fuck off.”

Harrison lifts his hands in surrender then turns to Hunter. “Your turn,” he mutters.

“Chase,” Hunter says, looking at Connor. “This could get messy. Do you want a turn first?”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he replies with a grin. “Merely here for the entertainment.”

“What do we do?” Luke whispers not-so-quietly to Greyson beside him.

“Stand, watch and learn,” he tells the younger man.

Hunter steps forward, and crouches down in front of the prisoner. He pulls a small packet of what looks like needles from his pocket, placing them on the floor beside him, then starts to untie Jed’s sneakers, slipping both them and his socks off.

“I’ve been dealing out justice for years,” he says, matter of fact. “I’ve tried all types of torture over the years to retrieve the information I need. And sometimes the smallest, most basic methods work best.” He pulls one needle from the packet and slides it skillfully under the man’s toenail. His victim howls in pain as my toes clench in my boots. “Name of the man who ordered the hit, please.”

Five needles later, Jed starts talking. “He never told me his name. I was taken to an office at a warehouse by the leader of my team,” he tells us between labored breaths.

“What team?” Russell interjects.

“Collection team. They told me to pass the final stage of training, I had to prove I could complete the final task.” He closes his eyes, throws his head back, and roars in pain. “I had to kill someone I didn’t know, who was an innocent victim, to get to someone else.”

Russell grabs at the rope still hanging loose around the man’s neck; he tightens it and it cuts into the man’s skin, causing him to gasp for air. As Jed’s face reddens, Russell releases some pressure.

“Who was there?” Russell growls. I watch on, knowing my turn will be next and my men, no matter how strained some of our relationships are, will allow me to finish the job.

“I didn’t know his name.”

Russell snaps the rope tight once more, and Jed opens his mouth like a fish. “Didn’t or don’t? There’s a fucking difference.” He releases the pressure once more.

“Didn’t,” Jed stammers. “Then I saw him in the paper. Moreno. His name is Moreno.”

“Bingo,” Russell says with a sneer. “Over to you, McKinney. Make him pay for taking Connie from you.”

“From us,” I tell him, and he nods. “From all of us.”

Hunter moves to stand by the array of tools. “What do you want to use McKinney?” he calls over. “Machete, nail gun, saw…” Our captive’s face drains of any remaining color as he watches our exchange.

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