Page 50 of Velvet Betrayal
Kieran
It happened fast.
One second I was sure the guy was gone, the next I was eating steel just above the ear—the fucking multitool, if I had to guess. The world spun, and I staggered into the alley wall, hands up, brain scrambling for balance. I barely had time to brace before he caught me again, this time clipping my ear so hard I felt blood slick my neck. The streetlights smeared out, red and watery, as I reeled toward the curb, half-blind, grabbing for crumbling brick.
Wasn’t Tristan supposed to be taking care of this? What kind of thug was this man?
What kind of animal had federal plates?
Where was his partner?
All thoughts I managed to have before the pain made me too dizzy to think.
“Motherfucker,” I grunted, just as he kicked out my knee and dropped me, face-first, to the pavement. My teeth split my lip open, and I tasted old coffee and toast, sharp as bile.
He was on me in a heartbeat—heavy, breath cold at my ear. “Should’ve let it go, Callahan. She would have.” His hand pressed my neck, not quite choking, just pinning me like a snakewith a mouse. The multitool slid up my cheek, metal trembling like he’d done this before. “You listening now?”
I spat blood and managed, “You got thirty seconds before I kill you with your own teeth.”
He laughed, low and ugly, the kind of sound you only hear from men who’ve seen enough alley fights to know the score. “I’d like to see you try,” he said, and let up just enough for me to get my elbows under me.
I didn’t wait. I bucked hard, cracked the back of my skull into his nose—the only thing I could reach—and felt it break, hot and wet. He tried to bring the tool down again but I caught his wrist, rolled hard right, and slammed his knuckles into the wall, once, twice, until I heard the crunch. He howled, a dying-animal sound. I didn’t bother with questions. I pinched his windpipe until he stopped fighting, then let him drop, coughing and clawing at the ice, his blood streaking a trail across the ground.
Then I put the pressure on again—knee on his chest, ready to kill if I had to.
Maybe even if I didn’t have to.
Ireallywanted to kill this guy.
“Fuck you,” he gasped, somewhere under my knee.
“Why are you after Ruby?”
He barked a laugh, even with his nose mashed flat and blood in his mouth. “Ruby? I’m not after Ruby. I’m after a paycheck. The DA is incidental.”
He’d trained himself not to show pain—maybe ex-cop, maybe private muscle, definitely the kind of guy who’d seen a few wars. I wiped blood out of my eyes and stomped on his foot, just once, so he’d remember me. “Who pays you?”
He spat more blood. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
I pressed my thumb into his broken knuckles. He grunted. “Name.”
Something flickered in his eyes—not fear, just a quick calculation.
He could see I was done with questions.
Next came consequences.
“You want to know who pays the Crew, Callahan? Fucking everyone does. It’s not a hotline—it’s a bucket. People throw in for sport, for spite, for a maybe. If you’re on the board, there’s a dozen freaks and lawyers and enemies-of-your-enemies kicking up for the kill.” He spat blood. “You think this is personal? It’s crowd-sourced. You’re lucky it’s me and not some little influencer bastard trying to livestream your execution for likes.”
I dug in. “Name.”
He gritted his teeth. “Ask your brother. He’s the only one who can afford the full package.”
Didn’t love that answer. Neither would Ruby. I grabbed his pinky and bent it back, slow.
“I don’t fucking know! It’s an anonymous app, prick!”
“Where do you get it?”
