Page 133 of His Fury

“Torch it,” I instructed quietly. I didn’t need to turn to know that the men did as I asked.

“That’s done,” Rye muttered beside me. “You want to do Luxure first or Splay?”

“Not quite finished here.” I turned back to him and smiled. “Follow me.”

Rye didn’t argue. Just followed. The door was tucked behind the steel delivery bay—unmarked, locked from the outside—and only one bulb overhead hummed with lazyelectricity. Rye looked at me in disbelief as he walked farther into the room.

IthinkI saw an eye roll. I smirked.

He let out a sigh. “So…” He looked between me and the center of the room. “They give you any trouble?”

I laughed. “Not a drop.” I gave them a mocking look. “Just a lot of whining.”

“Shocker.” He looked at me and then at the three men sitting in folding chairs, wrists zip-tied behind their backs.

The same three who’d pulled Isla off the street like she was yesterday’s garbage.

One of them— the one who’d told her he hoped no one came for her— lifted his head and spat at the floor.

I walked slowly toward him. The silence in the room became a living thing. I crouched in front of him, elbows on my knees, calm as ever.

“You touched what’s mine,” I said softly. “Threatenedwhat’s mine.”

He sneered. “She’s just another whore.” He looked at me with disgust. “It wasn’t personal.”

My thumb dug into the knife wound I’d made earlier when I caught the fucker. “That’s the mistake you made,” I replied. “You thought Idobusiness like your boss.”

His breath caught.

I leaned in, my knife slicing into the back of his knee, just enough for him to feel it. “You should never have looked at her. Never said her name. You don’t get to exist in a world where she does.”

He was trying not to scream, and I stood. I glanced at Rye who was watching me carefully. He didn’t ask for confirmation, just grabbed the man’s chair and dragged him towards the back door.

The other two didn’t speak. One pissed himself. I didn’tblink. I shot them both in the head. Their bodies slumped forward. When Rye came back, he looked at me with reproach.

“Now I know where you went the other morning,” he muttered. He walked to the door and called for one of the others.

“The other one?” I asked.

“Bleeding out, thought he should suffer for calling Barnie a whore.” Rye saw our back up guy and told him to get another can of gas.

The guy came back and doused the room. He went out and came back. “He’s still alive.”

I looked at Rye who shrugged. “He’s in for a rough fucking ending then.”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t need to. I walked back to the car and pulled out the alcohol wipes, cleaned my hands, and wiped my blade clean. I tossed the trash into the burning inferno that was once a warehouse.

They’d find the bones in the rubble. They’d know who sent the message immediately. I didn’t leave debts owed to me unpaid.

Rye got into the SUV. His phone buzzed. He checked it and put it back in his pocket.

We drove to Luxure, my other club in Chicago. It was nice and prestigious, not as good as Elixir but still a moneymaker—anexcellentmoneymaker.

They were waiting in my office.

I sat down behind my desk, steel and stone, heavy, immovable. I unbuttoned my jacket and glanced at my watch. We were on schedule. Rye stood at my back.

Across from me, two men I knew by name and reputation were finalizing their end of the delivery. I waited until they were finished. They handed me the tablet.

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