Page 91 of Vicious Souls

I slide into the booth he’s sitting in. Ford is nursing a drink and a cigarette; he’s already broken two cardinal rules so early in the morning. I make no comment as he looks up, his eyes going wide as he moves a hand to his waistband. I signal Marco, who’s standing a few feet away watching us like a hawk, to stand down. This one I want to take care of myself, and I’m going to relish every fucking moment of it. I can literally smell his blood.

Before Ford even knows what hit him, I’ve flicked out a pocket-knife and pushed it through the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. I want him immobilized, not dead. He’s ex Navy Seal, so I get no more than a wince out of him, but it will have to suffice. He brings his other hand back to the table, places it adjacent to the staked one and waits, just like any good soldier would.

“I don’t think there’s a need for introductions here,” I greet him. He grunts. The introduction is the knife pinning his hand to the table.

I fold my hands against each other, a habit from my priesthood days, and watch him. He’s not much of a threat. Especially when money is the currency he deals in.

“You broke into my home. You trashed it. And you took what is mine.”

“It was a job,” he mutters.

“I respect and commend your ambition to hold down a job.”

My voice oozes sarcasm as my eyes go to the tumbler of whisky sitting in front of him. The smoke from his discarded cigarette wraps around his face like a screen as it circles through the air. In a different time, this man could have been considered ruggedly handsome, but he’s obviously let the ravages of war and excessive vice take their toll on him. He had once been a Navy Seal, no small feat; momentarily, my mind wonders what has led him down this path of self destruction. I toss the question out of my head and fix him with a thunderous look.

“You. Took. Something.That wasn’t yours to take,” I bellow.

“You have my brother!” he retaliates. I don’t bother to tell him that Thomas Wojcak is long gone.

I lay my hands flat on the table, tap my fingers once, and hold my breath until I summon up more anger than I’ve known in a long while.

“Your so called best friend shot me. You two have messed with the wrong people.”

His expression is contrite. He knows exactly who I am and exactly how far they’ve crossed the invisible line that’s not meant to be crossed in our world. Mafia bosses are untouchable, especially by the likes of some small time Motorcycle Gang that is fraying at the seams. The retribution alone will be enormous. He’s aware of this, and that’s precisely why he’s moved all immediate family members into a safe house for protection. He knows what’s coming.

“I want Tate,” I say, without further preamble.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Listen to me carefully,” I hiss, pulling him toward me by his collar. “This is a one time offer. One time only. You take it or leave it.”

I have to sweeten the pot somehow. In his mind, I’m giving him more than what I’m getting, but he can never know that in ensuring King’s safety, I’m getting so much more than he’ll get in a lifetime. I can deal with the fallout afterward, but I’ll do anything to put this ordeal behind us once and for all before she and I get married. I don’t want our life together starting out with the specter of Tate hanging over us. I don’t want any loose ends. And I sure as hell don’t want this disaster to reinvent itself after I lay it to bed. So I offer him something that I know there’s no way he’ll refuse. I let go of his collar and sit back, assessing Ford carefully. I hope I’m reading him right; I’m not often wrong, but I’m not sure that I can be impartial when thoughts of King are what pervade my mind.

“You give me Tate. I’ll give you the ten million dollar bounty Tate promised you. I know the mercenaries you hired are riding your back hard to get paid and you need that money to stay alive. You keep the rest.”

There’s a spark in his eyes. It flickers then diminishes; I don’t mention Wojcak so he probably knows he’s never getting his friend back. So I go on; perhaps he’s smart enough to salvage what little is left of his life with my offer.

“If you ever catch up to Lucas Gables, I want his head served to me on a platter. A silver one. Because gold is above his station.”

Ford looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. He needs to understand just how demented I can be, so I roll with it and don’t bother correcting him.

“You’re willing to pay out the bounty,” he says, disbelieving.

“If it rids the earth of scum like Tate, then yes, I’ll pay the bounty.”

“And if I refuse?” he challenges. He already knows the answer to that. Anything he says from here on out is small talk.

“If you refuse, I’ll put you out of your misery and plant a bullet through your head. Only one bullet, because at the moment that’s all you’re worth to me. After that, each one of your family members, one by one, so they can all join you in hell.And you know I’ll make good on my promise.”

“You wouldn’t touch my family,” he gasps, but the look he gives me is one of uncertainty.

“You touched mine first.”

78

FIONA

The air in the basement is damp and heavy, the faint scent of bleach mingling with something darker—earthy and sour. I sit cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, my fingers absently tracing circles in the dust. My makeshift bed, a pile of discarded linens from the building’s laundry service, lays rumpled in the corner. Above me, muffled voices echo through the vents—the world I have infiltrated, the world I was sent to dismantle.

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