Page 147 of Ruin Me With Lies
Seriously, people still do this?
And why would these men rather die than give up whoever sent them?This is clearly a paid job.
Assessing the remaining three, I search for the weak link.The one most likely to crack, not because he’s afraid to die, but because he has something he’s afraid to lose.
And…there he is.The one on the right.He’s all hard-faced bravado, but there’s a shadow of rueful sorrow in the set of his jaw, in the slight downturn in his mouth, a squint of regret in his deep-set eyes.Signs of a man who’ll be leaving something behind and is struggling to make peace with it.
Tattoos peek out from the neckline of his shirt.
“Cut their shirts off,” I say.
“Cut their—What?”Sanders snaps at me.“Yo, go the fuck back inside!”
From the corner of my eye, I catch two Uppers whispering as they side-eye me.Yeah, I’ve been getting the side-eye treatment ever since Lorenzo busted into Brioso Hubb last week.Nope, I’m not one of the boys anymore.But I’m also too close to the bosses to disrespect.So instead, they side-eye, whisper, and keep their distance.
And while their doing that, the man in the middle starts frothing at the mouth.In seconds, he’s slumped dead.
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
In one swift move, I swipe Sander’s knife from its holster on his belt, stride over to my target, and slash through his thermal shirt, then rip it clean down the front and off his arms, exposing inked skin and tense muscle.
“Yo, what the—”
“Leave her,” one of the Uppers mutters behind me.“Let Lorenzo deal with her.Not our problem.”
Damn right.
Blocking out the idiots, I focus on the man in front of me.His chest and left arm are covered in tattoos, but two things stand out.
One is an emblem I’ve seen before.For an Armenian mercenary agency.
“You’re Blue Crows,” I state, slipping into a soft, ambiguous accent.Just enough to knock him off-balance.“Which means this isn’t personal.You’re not here out of loyalty or a cause.This is just another job.A paycheck.Yes?”
I crouch in front of him, meeting him eye to eye.“Look, I get it.The agency has a reputation to uphold.Protect the client’s trust at all costs, never talk, death before disclosure, yada yada.But be honest, do you think a mere paycheck is worth…” I gesture with the knife toward the two corpses beside him.“…that?A bit extreme, don’t you think?If it’s not for your country or your blood, then is it everreallycyanide serious?”
I rest the tip of the blade on the second notable thing inked into his skin, cleverly hidden among the twines of barbed wire and tribal swirls tattooed across his chest.A small heart with the nameZarehetched inside.
Zareh could be anyone, dead or alive.But based on the freshness of the ink, I’m taking a gander that it’s his kid.No older than three, four tops.
“Speaking of family…” I press the knife into the heart, not enough to pierce, but enough to drive the point home.“Is little Zareh worth it?”
His body tenses, silent panic creeping into the tight crinkles around his eyes.And I know I’ve hit the mark.
“We know where Blue Crows is hidden,” I murmur.“That fake travel agency right off Boardwalk Plaza…the second office underground…” I lift a brow, letting the silence bite.“If we know where to find your team, how long do you think it’ll take us to find little Zareh?”
His composure snaps.“YOU FUCKING BITCH!”he explodes in my face, spittle flying, accent thick and trembling.“Leave my son out of this!”
Bingo.
“Of course,of course.”I raise both hands placatively.“Just tell us who hired you, and we will.”
Clenching his jaw, the man looks to his remaining colleague, who exhales, hangs his head, and mutters in resigned defeat, “This bitch is a vile cunt for threatening a kid, but…she’s right.Not worth it.Do it for Z.”
The first man grinds his teeth and pins me with a glare that promises a brutal murder if he weren’t restrained.Once he’s made his threat clear through sheer eye contact, he begrudgingly mutters through gritted teeth, “Hernandez.We were hired by Jose Hernandez.”
Wait, what?That can’t be right.“You sure about that?”
His upper lip curls in a furious snarl.“Literally on my son’s fuckinglife.”
