Page 19 of Black Wedding

His jeans are tattered with graffiti paint, and his t-shirt is ripped, revealing his severely malnourished body. His face is sullen and almost grey. His eyes look sunken and lifelike, his cheekbones prominent. Seeing me staring at him, he attempts what looks to be a smile, but all it does is expose his blackened, chipped teeth, which are few and far between. Clearly, Art doesn’t just deal drugs. He looks like he uses more than he sells.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Princess Brianna. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Art slurs his words, clearly not yet down from his latest hit.

“It’s Art, isn’t it?” I ask, and he nods enthusiastically. “I am here to ask you some questions. If you answer correctly and honestly, you can leave here with a free hit on me. On the other hand, if you lie or don’t tell me what I need to know, I will make this difficult for you.”

His high-pitched laughter ripples through the air. “What the fuck you gonna do, Princess, or should I say whore. I have heard the rumours.”

As he says the word whore, I hear Jimmy growl from my left, and see Liam step forward to make sure he is right beside me on my right. Yet neither of them interfere.

Pulling my knife out of the holder in my back pocket, I grip it in one hand, and with the tip placed against the finger on my other hand, I twirl it around. Making sure Art can see the blade and how sharp it is. “Tell me, what have you heard?”

“That pretty boy over there kidnapped you, and you were so wet for it that you not only opened your legs, you said you would marry him. So now, he and his fucked up Family will be running the London firm. Your daddy is not happy with you at all,” he practically sings, not realising he is giving me what I need every time he opens his mouth.

“Who said the Doughty’s will be running London? Everyone knows that Liam left his family years ago,” I ask, taking a step closer to Art. He just laughs at my question, exactly what I expected him to do.

“Come on, Princess. I didn’t have you down as a stupid cunt. Of course, he is working for his family. Everyone knows Desmond is after the London firm. He will never take the Irish side from Mr. O’Keenan, but this firm is weak and only getting weaker.” As he finishes, I step forward until I stand right in front of him and kneel down, one knee hitting the floor. Now I am looking straight at Art. I slowly lift my knife and drag the blade down the back of his left forearm, right from the elbow to the wrist. I make sure to do it on the back of the arm to ensure I don’t hit any significant vessels, but it causes enough damage.

Art’s high-pitch screams fill the air as he shouts profanities and begs me to stop, his body is physically shaking. My body reacts to his screams and blood loss with an intensity that makes my heart race. Adrenaline is flooding my veins, and my pulse is beating in my ear. The sensations bring my body to life, and I love the power it brings me. It makes me feel seven feet tall, and fuck, do I want to hold onto it.

“Call me that again, and I will create a matching line on the opposite arm. Understood?” I ask, not really looking for a reply, but of course, Art answers. He begs me not to hurt him anymore. I want to laugh at how quickly he changes his tune. But then again, we already knew he was a rat. We just need to know who for.

“What I want to know from you, Art, is who you work for? I know you are no longer loyal to my father, which means you are no longer loyal to me. So I want to know who you are working for? Who is making moves against us?” I ask.

“Whoa…I-I don’t know where you heard that, but I am not a rat. I am loyal to you and your dad. You have to believe me,” splutters Art, while rocking back and forth, trying to get free of the ropes that bind him securely to the chair. He stands no chance of getting free until we decide to release him.

“Oh, Art. I thought I said you would be honest with me,” I say as I take my knife and draw a small but deep line across his right upper chest. It bleeds but not too heavily. It’s more to cause intense pain than anything, and it does its job.

Art, crying and sniffling, now looks like even more of a mess than he did before. “Nobody wants you to rule, Brianna. I’m sorry, but that’s true. Even your father is determined to put a stop to it. You have more enemies than you even know about!” he screeches, spit and snot flying everywhere.

CRACK.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh causes me to stumble backwards, and I feel Liam take hold of my shoulders to help me back up into a standing position. Apparently, Jimmy hit Art across the face, which now has blood pouring everywhere. Jimmy tells Art to pull it together and to answer my questions, but it has the opposite effect. Instead of calming him down, all it does is make him more hysterical as he tries to spit the blood out of his mouth. Fuck, I think he may have just spat out one of the very few remaining teeth he has left.

Looking across at Jimmy, I tighten my gaze, making it very fucking clear I am not happy with the intrusion. I did not ask for his help or his interference, nor was it needed at this stage. Guys like Art don’t respond to violence, if anything, that pisses them off, but they do respond to fear. It’s the fear of what I could do to them that makes them sing like a canary.

Sensing my displeasure, Jimmy holds up his hands in an apology and steps back. I continue with my questions, kneeling back down to make sure I can maintain eye contact with Art. It’s easier to tell if he’s lying this way.

“So my father doesn’t want me to rule. What has he got planned to stop me?” I ask, and before Art gets a chance to answer, Jimmy cuts in.

“Bree, your father, isn’t planning anything, He may not believe you can rule, but he listens to the old man. If your grandfather declares that you and Liam can rule after you are married, then that is what will happen. He follows the rules.” Jimmy steps towards me as he speaks, and whilst I don’t see this as a wrong move, Liam obviously does as he angles his body so that he can put himself in front of me if needed.

Both Jimmy and Art are watching the showdown with interest, wondering if Liam is really willing to put himself in danger for me. Of course, I already know he would; it’s just the type of guy he is. What bothers me is that the man I have viewed as a father figure for all these years is suddenly looking very shifty. He is acting defensive and abrasive, which he never usually does with me. He’s lying about something, and I want to know what.

Gently touching Liam’s arm, I indicate that it’s safe for him to step back, that I have got this. “If my father isn’t planning anything, then why are you getting so defensive?”

“Because, Brianna, I brought you here to interrogate a rat. Yet all you seem to be doing is looking for more reasons to get angry at your father. So, of course, this asshole is going to say your dad is involved. That way, he doesn’t have to name who he really works for. Fuck, Bee, didn’t I teach you better than this?”

Wow, that cuts harder than a knife. His words make complete sense, yet my body is telling a different story. Jimmy has always told me to follow my gut, and right now, my gut is screaming at me not to trust Jimmy. I feel like my world is caving in around me as the one man I have trusted my whole life stands in front of me, chastising me. I avert my eyes quickly so nobody can see the tears that are starting to well up there. I need to push aside all emotions.

Feeling Liam place his hand on my shoulder, it’s like he is passing his energy over to me, telling me he believes in me. The fact he hasn’t stepped in or said anything speaks volumes. He knows I can handle this.

“You did, I’m sorry,” I say to Jimmy, avoiding eye contact so he can’t tell how insincere my apology is. I then turn my full attention back to Art. “So, who are all these enemies you were talking about earlier? And if you mention my father, I will slice your throat slowly” I sneer, making sure the threat is clear.

“I-I don’t…I don’t know the details,” Art stutters, and I smile.

Taking my knife, I slice identical lines across each thigh. The blade is so sharp it goes straight through his jeans and into his skin, drawing a nice trickle of blood. The screams and pleas for me to stop echo around the small room. But Art doesn’t know it’s completely soundproof. We could have a room full of police next door, and they wouldn’t know he was in here.

As I start to slice the second leg, Art tries to talk, but I have already begun, and I am not stopping until they are symmetrical. But I listen to his cries, hoping to pick up something useful.

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