Page 24 of Shot For Mercy

“One of them is working with the Russians.” His voice is shaky as he says it, like he’s just now realizing that if I take pity on him—which I definitely won’t—they’ll just swoop in and kill him themselves. It’s tempting to let him live. But I’m getting bored already. The only thing making this interesting is that I need a?—

“Give me a name.” I grin, letting the crazy out. I’m so sick of these fuckers crossing us. “Now.”

“I don’t have one.”

I raise an eyebrow, and his breathing turns shallow. “You sure about that?” I ask calmly. More than I really feel. But sometimes, I can be in control. Only on special occasions. This seems to be one of those. I also don’t want to lose my shit in front of Emiliano. That’s the last thing I need.

Armando shakes his head and says nothing.

I appraise him for one long moment, looking at the way he’s tied to the chair, hands bound in front of him instead of behind. I don’t question it. Mostly because it’s convenient for me right now. I grab my scalpel, then his hand, gripping it roughly so he has no choice but to stay still. Emiliano’s eyes are still on me, burning a brand over my skin, but I ignore him as best as I can. Instead, I slide the scalpel under Armando’s fingernail and rip it clean off.

He screams.

“I can’t hear you,” I taunt. “What was that?”

I cup a hand over my ear as he begins to cry in earnest. “Officer Sean Murphy.”

I draw out my gun once more, pointing it right at his head for the second time tonight. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I pull the trigger, watching as brain matter splatters out of the back of his head. It rains down onto the concrete, and I sigh in contentment, holstering my weapon once more. I’m about to step out of the basement when Emiliano’s phone begins to ring, and he halts me with his hand.

“What happened?” Emiliano mutters under his breath, and I watch with bated breath. “Fuck.”

Silence.

“He’s dead,” he says, and I relax.

This I can deal with.

He needs another kill tonight? I’m his man. Anything else? I’m fucking out. I can only take so much pain and rejection for one day. I’m not putting myself in that situation again tonight.

“The police invaded warehouse five,” Emiliano speaks softly, locking his cellphone. “I need you.”

I need you.

How many times have I dreamed of those words coming from his lips? A million—possibly more. And yet, when it comes down to it, we don’t need each other in the same way.

I huff. “Let’s go get that dirty ass cop.”

I’m giving him an out, and he takes it. “You seemed bored with Armando.”

“I was.” I nod. “Make the next one more interesting.”

Emiliano throws his head back and laughs, and I can’t help the small chuckle that leaves me. “You’re crazy.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter, running a hand down my face as we ascend the steps that lead out of the basement and back to the club.

“I think I do.”

He doesn’t.

But I don’t correct him anymore.

Let him find out for himself.

Cole and I have been stuck in the basement together for the past five hours, torturing the dirty cop. Technically, I’m not stuck here. I could’ve left hours ago. After all, he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t need assistance. Especially not from me. But he looks so tired with his droopy eyes and the frown on his face. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the one who made him this way. Because I’m an asshole. He told me he loved me, and I rejected him. I couldn’t help it, though. How can he just expect for us to be together when my son matters too? His feelings matter. I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist and take whatever I want. What kind of father would I be?

It still doesn’t stop me from wanting Cole, though. Wanting him is an acute ache in the middle of my chest—this incessant longing that I can’t turn off. And fuck, I really want to turn it off right about now.

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