Page 99 of Graveyards & Greed

I stared at Kilian. “How?”

He shrugged and went back to looking at his phone. “I recorded his voice and manufactured evidence using AI.”

I stared at Kilian, realizing I’d underestimated his cunning and ruthlessness because next to Fenn, he appeared to be the calm, stable cousin. “What did they do to him?”

“You can see for yourself if you want. A correctional officer sent me the surveillance video.” Kilian was way ahead of us, I realized.

Fennick stood. “Fuck yes, we want to see it.”

Kilian led us to his office. It was clean and minimally furnished, without any personal items or decorations. On the back wall, a long table held several monitors, laptops, and smaller electronic devices. Trackers and other gadgets were neatly lined up in a glass cabinet. The place looked like it belonged to some CIA operative and reminded me of Ivan’s space but without the clutter.

Kilian turned on a monitor and called up the recording. Fenn and I stood behind him, watching what appeared to be a feed from the prison shower area. He sped up the video, and we saw Jeffery Whitlock and another man walk in, strip, and start to shower. Whitlock was a shorter man with the same coloring as Sylvie and a lean build. But his face had that hard, weathered look of a long-term drug user. When Sylvie’s father started rinsing off and closed his eyes, the other man turned and abruptly left.

Less than a minute later, three men with towels draped over their heads walked into view and grabbed Jeffery by the back of his neck. Then they attacked. Two of them held Jeffery up while the third punched him in the head and stomach. The beating seemed perfunctory, like they just wanted to incapacitate him quickly. But the attack took a dark turn when they pushed Jeffery to the floor on his back, spread his legs, and one of them reached in and methodically twisted his scrotum.

Whitlock writhed in pain. He tried to fight off his attackers but didn’t have the strength. After twisting his scrotum, one man bent down and bit Jeffery’s penis, pulling it away from his body. Sylvie’s father threw his head back in complete and utter agony. There was no sound, but we didn’t need to hear. We could see it in his body.

“Ho-ly shit,” Fenn murmured as the men finally stepped back and left Jeffery crying and gagging hysterically, his crotch a bloody mess. The man who bit Jeffery spit blood and something else out of his mouth as they exited the showers. “That looks like an avulsion tear. Either that or they ripped his fucking scrotum off.”

When the men were gone, Jeffery rolled over and threw up on the tile floor. Kilian pointed at his testicles now that we had a better angle. “It’s close, but see right there? His scrotum is hanging on by his spermatic cord.”

Grim satisfaction filled me. “When did it happen?” I asked.

Kilian shut off the video. “Two days ago.”

“Can you get me in for a visit?”

Fenn straightened. “I’m going too.”

Kilian nodded. “I’ll set it up. Think of it as my wedding present to you and Sylvie.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t tell if he was joking, then decided it didn’t matter. Kilian might not have a sense of humor or care much about social nuances, but he’d just become my favorite Spade cousin.

The following day, Fenn and I strode into the correctional facility, which loomed behind a hundred yards of tall, electrified chain-link fencing and razor wire that surrounded a barren landscape. The reception center processed us after thoroughly scanning our clothing and patting us down, then sent us through a body scanner. We passed through two enormous metal doors that locked ominously behind us before arriving at the infirmary.

Sylvie’s father lay on a hospital bed, handcuffed to the railing. “Who are you?” he asked groggily, his voice hoarse. His face was swollen, and he had two black eyes and a split lip.

“My name is Drakos Creed. I’m your new son-in-law.” I gave him an ugly smile, and Jeffery flinched and tried to cover his battered crotch, but the cuffs rattled on the bed railing. He glanced over at Fennick, and his face paled even more.

Fenn grinned. “We heard you had a little mishap in the shower, so we wanted to come give our moral support. To your attackers.”

Jeffery turned to the guard standing by his door. “Roberts, I didn’t approve these visitors. Get them the fuck out.” His voice sounded shaky and weak, but his tone made me think he was used to giving orders.

Roberts unfolded his arms and stepped forward, barely sparing us a glance. He reached back and pulled out his baton, then gave Jeffery’s lap a few hard taps. Whitlock let out a low moan, his teeth clenched in pain, and his cuffs clanked as he hissed in a breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Roberts gave the injured man a blank, cold stare. “Watch your tone,prisoner.” Then he stepped back and crossed his arms. It seemed Whitlock wasn’t well-liked around here, and he’d lost his power.

Fennick stared down at him. “You came after Sylvie, you stupid motherfucker. Are you surprised we went after your balls?” Jeffery’s face paled even more.

I leaned forward and murmured in his ear. “Enjoy jerking off while you can. The next time they go after your tiny cock, they’ll take the whole thing. And then they plan to start on your fingers and toes.”

Impotent fury and hatred burned in his bloodshot eyes. Fenn patted his shoulder, and Jeffery jumped. “You have a choice here, Whitlock. You can check yourself out, or we’ll dismember you, piece by piece. I prefer the long, drawn-out, painful method. We’ve even started taking bets—this is Vegas after all—to see how many parts they hack off before you get beaten to death or kill yourself.” He straightened and squeezed Jeffery’s thigh.

Jeffery turned to me. “You think you’ve won. You think you’re going to be happy and make fuckingbabiestogether. But the Stracks are still out there, and the drug syndicate is still watching,” A few angry tears rolled down Jeffery’s face as he bent forward. “She’s a selfish, greedy littlecunt, just like her mother. Good luck with her. I give it a month.”

I smirked and soaked up the sight. “See, that’s the difference between us. I don’t need or want her money. If you weren’t such a rotten cankerous monster, I’d almost feel sorry for you, dying alone in prison with no friends or family who give a fuck about you. Only enemies. Enjoy your last few days.”

We left him there and strode out of the infirmary, the smell of piss and disinfectant permeating the room. I couldn’t wait to get back into the fresh desert air.

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