41. Kaos
Islam my fist into the asshole’s face, relishing in the sound of cracking bones followed closely by a satisfying stream of blood.
It’s been too long since I’ve made someone bleed, and this is exactly what I needed, what I’ve been craving.
“Tell me what Charles is planning,” I growl as I throw another punch, this time getting him in the cheek.
I nabbed him off the street and brought him to the basement of the compound. We try not to do our dirty work outside these four walls. It’s just cleaner this way. Less likely to be any witnesses to our brutality, and it’s rare that anyone who comes through these doors leaves.
“I don’t know,” he sobs. The wimp was crying the second he woke up tied to a metal chair with cable ties, a personal favorite of mine. The more they struggle, the more they bleed as the sharp plastic slices them open.
The last guy I had down here killed himself that way. By accident, of course. But the idiot hit an artery trying to escape. Saved me another death on my conscience, I suppose, even if it’s long since been blocked out.
I sigh and throw another punch, getting him right in the jaw and enjoying as blood drips from the corner of his lip. “See, I’d like to believe you, Kev, I really would. But I just don’t.” I shrug as I wander to the edge of the room where my glass of whiskey is sitting untouched. I don’t normally drink down here, but today it felt necessary.
I’m avoiding every single member of my family, and the silence is beginning to get to me. My own demons are chomping at the bit to escape, to drag me down with them, and devour me. The hard liquor will help to quieten them.
“I don’t know anything,” he cries. “I would tell you if I did, please just let me go.”
I chuckle and take a sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burn as it makes its way down my throat. “Liar.”
“No, I’m telling the truth.” His sobs are violent and broken, but they’re not because he’s innocent. I’ve done this enough to know that the ones who cry like this are always lying to me. They think they can appeal to the devil, that their tears will keep them safe from us.
I tilt my head as I watch him, considering my next move. Normally, torture is mine and Kovu’s thing. We take turns delivering unimaginable pain to our victims, and then, when they inevitably break, one of us will end their miserable existence.
But I’m flying solo on this one, leaving my best friend with his new pet.
The thought of Camilla has rage burning deep in my belly, and I reach behind me, grasping the first tool my hand wraps around.
A hammer.
Not my usual favorite, but it will do.
I advance on him again, but slower this time, allowing him to watch my every move and take in the tool in my hand before I use it to shatter his bones.
“Wanna try again?” I raise a brow as I swing the hammer around my hand, toying with it just as I am my latest victim.
“I’m too low-level to know shit. I swear. I just run guns for him.” He almost sounds genuine, but I’ve done this enough to know better.
“See, I have it on good authority that you were recently promoted.” I raise a brow expectantly and watch as he pales. Bingo. A man can school his features all he wants, but the body’s fight or flight response will always give them away.
He opens his mouth to respond, readying another lie, but before he can get it out, I slam the hammer down into his kneecap. The sound of it shattering is so fucking satisfying that I feel it move over every inch of my skin.
“And try not to lie again, or both knees will be useless.”
“He wants the girl,” he cries out. “He’s obsessed with her. Has been for years.”
I stare at him for a moment, considering what he’s telling me. “Camilla De Marco?”
“Yes. That’s her. He’s got everyone looking for her. He’s got us searching every fucking corner of the city, even when that means crossing into other territories.”
I hum my understanding. “He’s been obsessed with an underage girl? To my knowledge, the day he was supposed to wed her was her eighteenth birthday.”
He nods adamantly. “He likes them young. But for obvious reasons, he needed someone of age to become his wife.”
I blanch at the information he’s giving me. There are very few things the Syndicate will not tolerate. But this is one. Trafficking of any kind is another. We do random spot-checks of all brothels in the city to ensure all girls are of age and are there of their own free will.
The knowledge that Charles Davenport is laughing in the face of our most absolute rule makes my stomach turn, and I know for a fact, most of the other families won’t stand for it either.
I cross the room and down the remaining whiskey in my glass. I should have brought more down here, but I thought the one would tide me over until I ice this asshole and can make it back upstairs to the good shit.
“Will you let me go now?” the asshole whimpers.
“He got any leads on the girl?” I ask, keeping my face completely emotionless. The fact Camilla is living under this roof and has been since day one is a threat to us, and I want to know if Charles knows where she is.
“I don’t think so. He’s been searching high and low.”
“What’s he planning on doing if he finds her?”
“He wants to marry her immediately. He wants her territory. I think I heard one of his private security guards saying that he was going to kill De Marco anyway. That the plan was to make him disappear as soon as she had the ring on her finger.”
I nod as if he’s not giving me the information we need to kick his boss’s ass to the curb. Everything he’s done and is doing is against the rules of the Syndicate. A contract every member signed when it was put into place eight years ago, ending decades of war and destruction in the underworld. Charles himself signed the goddamn thing.
So the question is, did he sign it knowing he would end up betraying us?
I pick up my favorite knife from the table and cross the room in quick strides. The poor asshole doesn’t even see the knife coming before I plunge it into his carotid artery.
Blood pours from the wound, and I watch as it stains his white T-shirt. The contrast is stifling, but addictive nonetheless.
I send a quick text to one of the only people who knows where our base is, our cleaner, and leave the dead asshole to bleed as I make my way up to Crew’s office.
He doesn’t like when we drag blood through the building, but he’s just going to have to live with it.
I shove into his office without knocking and find him behind his desk as usual. He’s scowling at the screen, his fingers tapping impatiently on the wood as he reads whatever it is that’s frustrating him.
“I thought we agreed you assholes would start knocking,” he grumbles as he finishes whatever it is he’s looking at.
“No, you agreed. The rest of us decided to ignore you.” I crack my first smile in days, hell, it may have even been weeks at this point. Regardless, it feels foreign and unnatural.
He rolls his eyes and leans forward on the desk, his elbows pressing into the oak. “What do you want?”
“Snappy today,” I prod.
He huffs out a sigh. “It’s been a long day.”
“Anything to do with our houseguest?”
His eyes flash with something I can’t quite read before he buries it behind his mismatched gaze. “It doesn’t matter. You here for a reason?”
I nod, quickly relaying the information the asshole in the basement gave me, making sure I don’t leave out any of the details. When you’re dealing with assholes like Davenport, you have to have all your facts straight, and seeing as Crew is much more likely to be speaking to him, I want him to have it all together.
Crew scrubs a hand down his face and runs it through his hair, disrupting the perfectly styled look he wears for the rest of the world. “Fuck.”
“This means we have cause to kick his ass out, right?”
He shakes his head. “No, this means we have bosses who are completely disregarding our authority. We have no idea if any of the others are involved, if this is just the surface.” He pauses and flicks his gaze to the screen in front of him. “He said Charles doesn’t know where Camilla is?”
I shake my head and bury the growl that tries to rise to the surface. It always comes back to her. “He said he has people scouring the city for her, even if that means crossing into another territory.”
“He’s willing to start a war to get her back.”