Page 60 of Scornful

"That's seven," Oskar observes clinically. "Three to go."

"Feel like talking yet?" Emil asks, already positioning the pliers over the next finger.

"I can't!" Laken sobs. "He'll kill me!"

"We'll kill you in a slower, more painful way," I say, moving into his line of sight. "See, the thing about fingernails is they're just the beginning. We've got toenails, teeth, plenty of skin to peel. How do you think Astrid felt when you kept harassing her after she left you? When you put your hands on her in that parking lot?"

At Astrid's name, something shifts in Laken's eyes. "She was mine first," he spits. "Before you. Before any of this."

The rage that floods through me is instant.

I grab his throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult. "She wasneveryours. You made her feel small, worthless. Made her doubt herself."

"Like you're any better?" he gasps. "Sneaking around, lying to everyone. At least I was honest about what I wanted."

Emil's fist connects with Laken's ribs before I can respond.

The crack of breaking bone is loud enough for us all to hear.

"Enough about my sister," Emil growls. "Talk about the Patriot or lose another nail."

Laken coughs, blood speckling his lips. "Warehouse," he finally gasps. "Off Highway 20. He's got product there. Weapons."

"Keep going," Runes urges him on.

"Big shipment coming through. End of the week. That's all I know, I swear."

Emil looks skeptical, pliers hovering over another finger. "That's convenient. How do we know you're not lying?"

"Because shit’s gonna blow up soon," Laken says, then laughs—a broken, unhinged sound. "All of it. The whole fucking thing's gonna blow."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fenrir demands.

But Laken just keeps laughing, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Emil rips another nail free, but even that doesn't stop the hysteria.

"He's lost it," Oskar says. "Shock, probably."

"Or he knows something we don't," I counter, something in my gut telling me this is going to go to shit real fast.

Runes steps back, decision made. "Oskar, keep working on him. Get whatever else you can. Emil, Fenrir, Geirolf—kirkjain twenty minutes. We need to discuss this warehouse."

As we file out, leaving Laken to the tender mercies of the brothers, Fenrir finally looks at me directly.

"This doesn't change anything between us," he says coldly.

"Didn't expect it to."

"Good. Because if you hurt her—" I don’t even let him finish his sentence.

I look him right in the eyes. "The last fuckin’ thing I’ll ever do is hurt your daughter."

He studies me for a long moment, then nods curtly. "See that you don't."

Twenty minutes later, the chapel is full minus the prospects, Emil, and Oskar.

Everyone else is present, the table surrounded by brothers who've sworn their lives to this club.

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