Page 98 of Point of No Return

If I’m not the one to kill them, then I’ll make sure there isn’t a person in Westos that doesn’t know there’s a blood bounty on their name.

Crew took Charlotte and Aleks home less than ten minutes ago, and I’m still sitting in my office waiting for security downstairs.

I can still smell her. Her scent is so strong I can still imagine her bent over against my desk for me. A few minutes longer, and I would have been close to flipping her on her back, hiking that skimpy dress to her waist and spreading her out in the middle of my office.

My resolve is quickly diminishing. It took every ounce of restraint inside me not to have her- to taste her- to fuck the word “indignantly” right out of her pretty little mouth.

I force the images out of my head, willing myself to focus on the matter at hand. I don’t take kindly to people disobeying me. And certainly not when they thought they would be afforded the protection of an audience. Any other night, maybe. But tonight, rage is a river building in my veins, hot and wild. There’s not a thing in the world that can stop me.

I get a text, and I know without having to look that it’s from security telling me that they’ve escorted Thomson and Jamison downstairs. Normally, Crew is the one to take care of these kinds of things, but when he told me, I knew I didn’t trust anyone else with getting Aleks and Charlie home safe. Tonight, I’ll be the one getting my hands dirty.

Nothing I haven’t done before. Nothing I won’t do again.

Locking the office behind me, I take the stairs down to a hall that connects to a couple of storage rooms and private business lounges. If the police or anyone else ever came sniffing around, they wouldn’t be able to find anything. The blueprints show no mention of the basement or the series of interconnected rooms below the club. It was built specifically so it couldn’t be found.

I pull a latch behind a liquor cabinet and a panel of the wall clicks inwards, opening to a flight of stairs. In the dark, it’s impossible to see the door at the end of them, but I know the path by heart. Past the door and landing, two ill-lit hallways diverge with interrogation rooms on either side.

Make enough enemies and more than half of them will inevitably attempt to find a weakness. Maintaining power isn’t just about not having weaknesses. It’s about squandering anyone who finds them. And the Benenati name is as elusive as it is powerful.

Two guards stand post at two rooms on either side of the hall, and I shuck off my jacket and hand it to one of them.

“Is this Thomson?”

“Yes, Sir. Unconscious.”

I open the door to total darkness. Only a single strobe light directed toward one of the walls interrupts the inky blackness. The light sits on a swivel, and I direct it toward Thomson who is strapped to a chair, head hung low on his chest. Unconscious, for now.

I stroll toward him, riling my anger enough to see clearly. His graying beard is unshaven and his hair is a mess, blood already spattering the corner of his mouth. One of his eyes is swollen shut. Part of me wants to feel bad that maybe this guy will go home and his poor wife will have to see this. But that thought dies as quickly as it comes.

He knew better than to come here.

Thomson stirs when I shove the light in his face, his head bobbing, not quite coherent until I pat the side of his face. Once, twice until his breaths are shallow, and he’s blinking against the strobe light and likely wondering exactly where he is.

“Who-” he stutters, suddenly recognizing the ink on my hands as I stroll toward the cart of tools laid out behind him. “Skar... Skar, boy am I glad to see you,” Thomson laughs in short-lived relief. “There’s been a huge mistake-”

“Now is not the time to talk,” I let my fingers trail over one of the thin silver blades on the cart, my eyes wandering over the myriad of options. Thomson doesn’t take the hint.

“L-Look. I know what you said. I remember what you told me would happen if I came back. But- But I’m just trying to help you out, man.” I decide on a shorter, thicker blade. “You don’t have to do this. Just- listen.”

I grab a metal chair from against the wall, dragging it with me. The blade is in my hand as I walk back toward him. This time he’s struggling, thrashing and tugging against the restraints.

“You talk too much.” I flip the chair, sitting in it backwards and spinning the blade against Thomson’s knee. Eyes wild, he’s watching as I carefully spin the top over his slacks. “I have a couple of questions.”

“Yes- Yes,” he’s panting.

“You’ll answer them. Won’t you, Thomson?”

He shakes his head, swallowing loudly. “Whatever you want. I’ll tell you anything.”

Funny how a man normally so confident in front of others is brought to his knees so easily without an audience. Men like him prey on the weak.

“You worked with my father. Tell me about Hydran.”

He shakes his head again. “Hydran? I don’t-” In one fluid movement, I draw the blade down the front of his shirt, cutting it open and revealing his unshaved chest. “Okay! Okay! It was- He was working on this project. Something he started when he was your age. Before he married Lorelai.”

“With who?” I press, letting the information sink in.

“I don’t know. He never said. I just know it was something he started up again. Little more than a year ago.”

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