Chapter Thirty-Six #2
“Good idea,” Alex agrees.
His man holds her right hand flat. I position the pliers around her index finger.
“Last chance,” I warn. “Talk, or I'll start collecting.” She's crying, blood, tears and snot mixing together.
“O-okay,” she tries to say. Her words are slurred and hard to understand now without her lips. “Okay. I'll talk. Please—”
I shoot the bitch a pout. “You ruined my fun.”
“Start with names,” Alex orders. “CIA operatives in your network that are dirty.”
And she does. For the next three hours, Fiona talks.
Between screams. Between fingers being removed.
Between cuts and burns and breaks. She gives us everything.
Every name. Every operation. Every piece of blackmail she collected over the years.
Every dirty secret the CIA tried to hide.
Alex has two of his men documenting everything, recording her confession, making sure we have proof.
She gave up a lot more than Alex and I both thought, her reach was further than we knew.
By the time we're done, I've collected her lips, seven fingers, both ears, part of her scalp.
Fiona is barely conscious now despite the stimulants.
Her voice is gone, destroyed by screaming. Her body is covered in blood and surgical cuts.
But she's alive.
Breathing.
Suffering.
“She's told us everything,” Alex observes, wiping his blade clean. “Multiple times. Same information. It's verified.”
“Good,” I say, examining my collection.
“What do you want to do with her?” Alex asks.
“Keep her,” I say. “Alive. Suffering. Let her be a reminder of what happens when you come after the Denver Kings or Devlin operations. I want her to spend her days in fucking agony.”
“Agreed,” Alex says. “I'll have my guys move her to a secure location. Medical support to keep her alive… barely. Somewhere she can live out whatever's left of her life knowing exactly what she is.”
“A warning,” I say.
“A message,” Alex corrects. “She will serve as a reminder to any of our enemies and crooked feds that try to blackmail us in the future. She wanted revenge for her brother, truth is… I don’t even remember who the fuck he was, just another faceless cunt who ended up on my radar.”
He looks at his men.
“Get her stabilized,” he orders. “Then transport her to the facility. Round-the-clock medical, minimal painkillers. I want her to be conscious and aware for as long as possible.”
They move to follow orders, then Alex turns to me, extending his hand.
“Good work tonight, Devlin. You've got an artist's touch.”
I shake his hand. “Learned from the best.”
“Your father?”
“Nah, YouTube and personal experience,” I say.
Across the room, Cas is still leaning against the wall, watching his unreadable expression. “You good?” I ask, moving toward him.
“Yeah,” he says, but his voice is tight. “Just… processing.”
“Processing what?”
“That,” he says, gesturing to where Alex is standing.
I take a deep breath and for the first time I try to offer comfort. “He’s your blood. Your brother whether you like it or not. He’s your family—”
“You’re my family!” he interjects.
“But he is your blood, Caspian.”
“Blood makes you related but loyalty makes you family.”
I grit my teeth and tamper my anger. “Take it from someone who lost a fucking sibling, you may not want him now but one day you will. Then you’ll be fucking furious that you wasted so much time being a fucking idiot.
Don’t waste the fucking time you have, believe me, you will never have enough of it. ”
He looks at me for a long time, I see the anger and betrayal warring in his eyes. I’m not going to hold the fuckers hand and tell bed time stories.
“Accept him or not, I don’t give a shit. The choice is yours but if it was me, I’d give anything to have one more minute with Emery. Just one last fucking chance to say… I love you.” I whisper the last part brokenly.
“Carnage is blowing up my phone,” he says after a minute, changing the subject. “He said Toren's starting to wake up more. Getting more alert and asking for you.”
The words hit like a bucket of cold water.
And I'm here, covered in Fiona's blood. “What time is it?” I ask.
Alex checks. “Almost four in the morning. You've been here for about three and a half hours.”
“Fuck.” I stab a hand through my hair and tug on the strands.
Killing is easy, making people suffer is second nature.
Being a piece of shit to Toren is what I’m used to.
Trying to explain and fix what I broke isn’t easy, it’s not second or third nature, this is uncharted territory.
This is crossing into enemy lines and I don’t fucking know how to do it.
I don’t know if I can change. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve never fucking needed to. I am who I am and that’s something I can’t fucking change.
I’m warring within myself, trying to decide what my next move is.
I can go back to the mansion and focus on my hatred of her family, force myself to stay away and never go back there.
Act like she never fucking existed. She should be grateful I never killed her when I first saw her, that I didn’t remove her lips from her face like I vowed I would.
“Clear out.” Alex’s booming voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I lock down my feelings and keep my face blank of all emotions.
I have let my men see too much lately. They witnessed me hesitating at the warehouse, losing control where she is concerned.
They can never see me weak, a good Don is a strong one.
I am fucking strong and I’ll never allow them to see the fucking cracks in my armor.
Cas hobbles closer but Alex shifts his focus to him and says, “Give us a minute.” I see him scowl back at The Butcher.
“Fuck. You. I’m not going anywhere,” Cas hisses.
Alex’s jaw locks. I see the argument resting on the tip of his tongue but he chooses to hold it back.
He moves closer and stops two feet away from me.
I clock Omen and Halo heading toward us, close to Alex but far enough away to give him a semblance of privacy.
His men file out of the warehouse. I watch them wheel Fiona out and it takes everything inside me not to go after her and finish what we started.
When it finally empties and the five of us remain, Alex meets my gaze and I see something flicker in his eyes, almost like recognition, like he’s seeing himself in me.
“You’re not going to the hospital.” It’s not a question, just a fact.
I grit my teeth and fight to keep my composure. The Butcher is better at reading people than I thought, and that pisses me off because I am always the hardest person in the room to read.
“And?”
Alex shrugs. “Don’t let the fear of your past hold you back from seeing what is right there.”
“You don’t fucking know me,” I snap.
“No, but I have been where you are.”
I scoff. “Are we done?”