Page 134 of Heartless Game

I’d lied that day, when I’d left her. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but it was necessary, even when the heartbreak on her face broke me. My father still had men loyal to him, even after his death. There were other factions against the Silvers; even the Golds waited in the wings to take us down and take over Brooklyn. I had to distance myself from her. I wouldn’t risk her life, but I wouldn’t leave her either. No, I had a plan to get back to her and be with her for good.

The plan began with violence and interrogations; with wiping the family clean of anyone who might wish us ill. The plan started with the man in front of me.

As I beat him, a memory came to me—chasing a little girl through the backyard as she laughed with delight, air bursting through my lungs as I ran, determined to catch her.

I’m going to catch you, bashert.

Really? You better hurry up, slowpoke!

“Brother dearest, aren’t you forgetting something? If you kill him, you won’t get the information you need.” Sasha said from where he sat, watching me.

Oh, right. I’d gotten so lost in my thoughts, I’d forgotten why we were here.

“I want names,” I told my father’s man. “Everyone who is still loyal to my father, everyone who’s thinking of challenging me. Give me the list, or you die.”

“Fuck you,” the man said through broken teeth.

“If I were you, I’d stop cursing and start talking. Your daughter’s name is Sarah, right? Only seven years old. It would be a shame if something were to happen to her.”

Even at the age of seven, I’d known what caused the bruises on Tovah’s arms. I just hadn’t known who.

Who hurt you, bashert?

No one hurt me.

Then what are those?

I fell.

The pain hadn’t done it, but the threat against his family did. “Alright, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Please don’t hurt my family. Please, sir.”

I paused in punching him, wiping my bloody knuckles on my already stained shirt. “Talk.”

Name after name bubbled from his lips. In the end, twenty-two men were against us. Twenty-two men a threat to my family, and the woman I loved.

Tell me, bashert. Tell me so I can protect you.

I can’t tell you. If I tell you, how am I going to protect you back?

I’d blocked out so many memories of her, of us as children, but violence took me back to that innocent time, and to the little girl who’d loved me regardless of who my father was.

Who I would protect, no matter what it cost me.

“One more question,” I asked. “Were you there when Tovah Lewis was tortured?”

The man didn’t speak, but the fear in his eyes told me everything.

Grabbing a scalpel off the tray behind me, I rewarded his cowardice with a slice across the throat. He’d been witness to Tovah’s pain; he died. As simple as that.

When we were done, I turned to my brother.

“You’re a mess,” he said, his own shirt pristine. “You know, Dad would never have gotten his hands dirty like this. He had people to do it.”

I straightened my collar, staring dispassionately at the dead man hanging from chains. “Yeah? Well, I’m nothing like Dad.”

* * *

“Come in,”I called.

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