Page 66 of Leather & Lies

Four of the most dangerous men in the state, brought together by one kidnapped woman. Any other time, the irony would make me smile.

“They’ll be at O’Malley’s.” Wyatt’s already moving toward his truck. “Thursday night’s poker night. Where her daddy lost everything.”

The rage in my chest goes arctic. They took her to the same place where her father’s weakness nearly destroyed everything. Where I first saw her, eighteen and fierce, trying to cover his debts with her college fund.

“Jackson.” Lucas’ voice holds a warning. “We do this smart.”

“Then we’ll start with their fingers and work our way up.” The words come out mechanical, detached. Like I’m discussing crop futures instead of dismemberment. “Until they tell us everything.”

Ryder’s smile would make a shark proud. “I do so love working with professionals.”

O’Malley’s hasn’t changedin a decade—rundown, reeking of stale beer and desperation.

Lucas adjusts his Italian suit. Wyatt checks his boot knife. Ryder’s smile promises violence.

I feel nothing but ice.

The door splinters from my kick. Conversations die as we enter—four horsemen of the apocalypse in custom riding boots. The bartender takes one look at my face and decides his stockroom needs urgent attention.

Joey Martinez sits at the back poker table, the same seat where he used to clean out Rick Foster. His eyes go wide as he recognizes me, but his feet tangle in his chair before he can run.

I’m on him before he hits the ground.

“Hey, boss.” Martinez’s alcohol-sour breath hits my face as I pin him to the wall. “Long time no see.”

Ryder casually shoves a table in front of the door while Lucas keeps the crowd back. Wyatt just leans against the bar, raw violence radiating from his stillness. The other patrons press against the walls like spooked cattle, no one quite willing to be the first to run.

“Your left hand was always your tell.” I study Martinez’s fingers like I’m choosing a tool. “The way you’d tap the cards when you were bluffing Rick Foster out of his daughter’s future.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about—” His words end in a shriek as the first finger breaks clean.

The sound cuts through the bar’s stale air. Someone retches in the corner.

“Let’s try again.” I press my forearm against his throat, voice desert-dry. “Where is she?” My voice remains conversational.

The snap of bone is precise—almost surgical. Not the uncontrolled violence of anger, but the methodical destruction of a man who’s done this many times before. Martinez’s scream tears through the bar, high and thin with shock.

“Still don’t know?” I move to the next finger, slowly applying pressure, letting him feel the bones beginning to separate before I complete the break with a sharp twist. The sound—halfway between a crack and a wet pop—causes more retching from the corner.

His fourth finger splinters differently—multiple fractures rather than the clean breaks of the first three. More painful. More difficult to heal. I watch his eyes roll back, noting the moment shock begins to set in.

“Most men start talking at this point.” I muse.

I pull the knife from my boot—the one with the serrated edge designed for skinning. “Fingers heal eventually,” I explain, the same tone I’d use when discussing the weather. “But hands? Those nerve endings are never quite the same.”

As I position the blade at his wrist, Martinez’s bladder lets go. The ammonia stench mingles with blood and fear. Someone whispers a prayer behind me.

“The abandoned Parker place,” he sobs, strings of mucus hanging from his nose. “Please, you can’t?—”

I slam his head against the wall with brutal force—enough to knock him unconscious without killing him. He’ll live. Whether he’ll ever use that hand again depends entirely on my mood when this is finished.

Lucas’ expression is carefully neutral as I turn back to the crowd. Only those who know him well would recognize the respect in his eyes. Respect for a monster who knows exactly how far to go.

“Anyone else feel like taking the hard way?” Ryder’s cultured voice carries over the silence. No one moves.

“Seven miles out.” Wyatt’s already moving toward the door. “Lots of old access roads. Good place for an ambush.”

“They’ll have backup.” Lucas pulls out his phone, already coordinating resources. “Might be smart to wait for?—”

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