Chapter 28
Nik
Roger doesn’t scream like I expect him to. Not at first.
He whimpers. Shakes. Asks questions no one’s answering. He’s trussed up like a sack of meat someone forgot to refrigerate—bruised, snot-faced, lip split wide. Still breathing. Unfortunately.
I keep my distance. Let the space between us thrum with expectation. I haven’t touched him. Don’t need to. That’s what Johnny’s for.
He walked with me into the warehouse. Didn’t ask questions. Just clocked Roger in zipties on the floor and stopped. Still as stone. Like a fuse waiting to burn.
I watch Johnny carefully. I need to know what kind of man I’m dealing with. Walter trusts him, but trust can be manufactured. So can loyalty. Pain, though? Pain strips people bare.
“He works in a trafficking house,” I inform Johnny. “One of Walter’s. Figured you might have questions.”
Johnny doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look at me. Just steps forward, slow and deliberate.
Roger lifts his head. Eyes bloodshot. Blinking fast. “What the hell—?”
Johnny answers with a punch. No wind-up. Just a straight, savage shot to the ribs.
Roger folds in on himself, coughing.
“Talk,” Johnny says, emotionless, kneeling over our captive.
“Talk about what?” Roger wheezes.
Another punch. This time to the jaw. A bloody tooth skips across the concrete.
I step in. “How many houses are there, Roger?”
No answer.
Johnny grabs the back of his neck and slams his face into the floor. Not hard enough to incapacitate him, but hard enough to break Roger’s nose. Blood gushes everywhere.
“How many girls did you sell?” he growls, voice rasped and low. “How many kids?”
Roger sobs. “I—I don’t know. Walter handles the details—please—”
Johnny doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t slow. Just pulls a knife I didn’t even know he had, and presses the flat of the blade against Roger’s cheek. Doesn’t cut. Just promises to.
“You ever put your hands on a kid?” Johnny growls, low and savage. “Ever helped Walter move one?”
Roger cries out. “No—no—I just handle intake! Logistics—I never—”
Another punch. Quick and punishing.
Roger whimpers something I can’t make out.
Then, Johnny moves so fast I almost miss it. He slams Roger’s hand down, drives the hilt of the knife into his knuckles. Roger’s scream echoes off the walls.
“Start talking,” Johnny growls. “Or I’ll carve the truth out of you.”
That’s when I know. He’s never been with Walter. No, he’s been hunting him.
Roger cracks fast after that. Spills everything. Every name. Every location. Every client nickname. Talks about warehouses in the north, a transit hub disguised as a freight service, private buyers in Europe. Walter’s connections. His supply lines. He folds like wet paper. Pathetic.
When it’s done, Johnny’s crouched beside him, blood on his hands and fury in his bones. Breathing hard. Vengeance in his core.
I let the silence settle.
“You’re not in bed with Walter. You’re manipulating him.”
Johnny lifts his head. Eyes empty, except for fire.
I keep my voice level. “This is about her.”
We both know who I’m talking about. He doesn’t deny it.
I step closer, closing the distance. I offer an olive branch.
“Let’s stop wasting time pretending we’re enemies,” I murmur. “We share what we know. Hit him from both ends. Take down the whole damn thing.”
Johnny stares at me for a long time. Blood on his hands. Roger gasping at his feet.
Eventually, he nods. Once. We have an agreement. An alliance made. Unspoken, but absolute.
I step nearer. “One more thing.”
His brow ticks up.
“I know she’s in your apartment.”
The change is immediate. Not violent, but sharp. His shoulders straighten. His gaze hardens like quenched steel.
“She asked about you,” he says finally.
I nod once. Calm on the surface, but inside, I’m burning. She asked about me.
His jaw works. “You hurt her, I’ll gut you.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
We stare at each other. Two loaded guns with the safeties off.
Then, Johnny turns for the door. “Come on,” he mutters.
And just like that, we’re walking out. Two men. One war.
Both of us orbiting the same woman. Both of us willing to fight for her.