Chapter 28 #3
I wrenched the hammer free and admired the work. Blood welled up around the metal, dark and sticky.
Harley grinned, leaning in. “You know, you could make a game out of this.”
I didn’t answer, just lined up the second nail on his left hand and hammered it down. This time the scream was weaker, more of a broken gasp. His head lolled to the side like he was running out of steam.
I let him sit there, bleeding, panting, dripping sweat and snot and tears. Blood was pooling on the floor under the chair as I gave him a minute to catch his breath.
Harley knelt down next to him. “You got a bullet wound yet, Agent? I bet you’d rather take a slug than another round with our boss here.”
Hillabrand blinked up at me, face pale, lips trembling. “You can do whatever you want. I’m not giving you the name.”
I exhaled, feeling a weird kind of respect. I almost didn’t want to break him.
But I had to.
I circled behind the chair, glancing at Harley. “Let’s try the teeth.”
Harley nodded, reached into the bag, and pulled out the pliers.
“Wait,” Hillabrand croaked before he finally caught his breath. His voice was raspy, but the words were clear and precise as he shredded my very being.
“Elin Perkins.”
I don’t remember swinging, but a moment later, I was huffing loudly and pain radiated up my body, while Hillabrand now sported a split lip. “You lie.”
Without thinking, I reached out, grabbed the hammer, and drove one of the nails further into his hand, causing it to all but disappear through the flow of blood. I stood back, and my gaze met Harley’s. His eyes mirrored the confusion in mine.
My Goddess? She wouldn’t. We . . .
“It’s true. However, she stopped giving me anything months ago, saying she had a change of heart and wasn’t going to tell me shit. I’ve had to find things out on my own. Follow the breadcrumbs.”
“And what breadcrumbs did you find after her supposed change of heart?”
His breathing started to normalize as he slowly lifted his eyes to meet my fierce gaze. “You are trying to get your sister, Rhea, out of the state to escape an arranged marriage to the Juarez family in San Diego.”
Fuck! If the asshole in front of me was able to find that out, there was no way to know if my father had as well. Pacing back and forth, I tried to avoid dwelling on the fact Elin was a mole.
“What else do you know?”
He silenced himself at that point, refusing to give up anything else.
I circled the chair where Hillabrand sat, bound with zip ties and duct tape. The basement's concrete floor was already splattered with dark patches of his blood. His FBI badge lay on the metal table beside my tools.
"You know," I said conversationally, selecting a serrated hunting knife from the array, "I've always found it interesting how quickly federal agents break compared to street thugs.
" I tested the blade against my thumb. "Street guys expect pain.
They've lived with it. But you suits? You think your badge protects you. "
Hillabrand's eyes followed the knife, his breathing shallow. Blood trickled from his split lip and the gash above his eyebrow where Harley had introduced his face to the wall earlier.
"Fuck you," he spat, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.
"Original."
Swiftly, I drove the knife into his thigh.
Not deep enough to hit an artery, but enough that his scream echoed off the concrete walls.
I twisted the blade slightly, watching his face contort.
The screams settled my nerves, as I knew that this asshole who wanted to implicate my Goddess as a traitor was getting exactly what he deserved.
"The Colombian shipment," I said quietly, leaning close to his ear. "Details. Now."
"I don't— I can't—" He gasped, sweat pouring down his face.
I withdrew the knife, wiping the blood on his once-pristine shirt. "Wrong answer."
Moving behind him, I gripped his left pinky finger, bending it backward until I felt the resistance of bone and tendon.
"Your career's already over, Agent Hillabrand.
Best-case scenario, you're labeled a corrupt agent who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Worst case?" I applied more pressure. "You never leave this room. "
The snap of his finger breaking was almost delicate. His howl was not.
"The shipment," I repeated, already reaching for his ring finger.
"Wait! Jesus Christ, wait!" His body convulsed against the restraints. "Wednesday—it's coming in on Wednesday night. Hanger 4."
I twisted the blade a quarter-turn. "What's in it?"
"Her—" His eyes rolled back, sweat beading on his upper lip.
"Heroin. Brown sugar. China white." Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth as he tried to breathe.
"Twenty bricks. Street value—" He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.
"Twenty mil, easy." I leaned in close enough to smell the copper tang of his blood. "And?"
"AK-47s. Grenade launchers. Military shit with serial numbers filed off." His pupils dilated with fear. "The powder's just window dressing."
I pressed my thumb against his shattered finger. "Who's waiting for Santa's delivery?"
When he hesitated, I let out a dramatic sigh, then reached for the bolt cutters.
"Westwood! Felix Westwood’s son is trying to reestablish his father’s old territory."
Westwood. The name sent ice through my veins. If he was expanding, that explained the recent border skirmishes.
"And the Bureau's plan?" I asked, picking up a pair of bolt cutters.
"Joint task force. DEA is heading it. They're letting it land, tracking it to the distribution center. There's an informant in Westwood's crew. Been feeding information for a year."
"Name?"
"I don't know." His eyes followed the cutter with naked terror. When I raised them toward his face, he thrashed against the restraints. "I swear to God! That's above my clearance! Only the task force leader knows!"
I studied him, the whites of his eyes showing all around the iris, the sweat and blood making his face shine in the harsh light. He wasn't lying.
"Task force leader," I said softly. "Who?"
"Mendoza. James Mendoza."
I nodded, committing the name to memory. Then for posterity, I set the cutters over his nose and snapped them shut. His scream filled the air before it was abruptly cut off when he passed out, and I was left with the sound of gurgled breaths.
Tossing the cutters, I pulled up a chair directly in front of him, our knees almost touching. I stared at him as Harley put a hand on my shoulder. “Do you think Elin would have betrayed us?”
I shook my head. “But she also thinks I killed her father.”
“She’s your Goddess though.”
My heart clenched, and I swallowed hard. “She was adamant about me not buying her out at first.”
“The Elin we know, the Elin you love—” I glared at him, but he gave me a hard look. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t love that woman. I’ve known you for too long, Gavriel. We’ve been through too much. My statement stands. The woman we know now wouldn’t do this.”
I studied Hillabrand. “He said that she had a change of heart. Hasn’t fed him information for months.”
The thought of my father discovering Elin's possible betrayal or worse, our plans for Rhea, made my blood turn to acid in my veins.
My hands, still slick with Hillabrand's blood, clenched into fists so tight, my knuckles cracked.
I whirled toward Harley, my vision edged with red, jaw clenched so hard I tasted metal.
"If that sadistic bastard finds out anything—"
“He touches her and I’ll kill him myself.”
Harley's face hardened into granite, his eyes burning with a ferocity I'd only seen a handful of times.
"I'll protect her with my last fucking breath, Gavriel.
My oath and dedication are to you, never that worthless piece of shit you call father.
I'd put a bullet in his skull before I'd let him touch her. You. Know. That."
Silence filled the space, the only sound Hillabrand’s blood dropping onto the concrete floor. We waited for a long time before he stirred. When his eyes fluttered open, it took a moment before they cleared and his attention was fully on me again.
"Here's what happens now, Agent Hillabrand.
" I kept my voice conversational, as if discussing the weather.
"You're going to tell me every single detail about this operation.
Entry points, surveillance positions, personnel.
And if I think you're holding back, even slightly—" I gestured to the tools on the table.
"We've barely scratched the surface of what I can do. "
His eyes welled with tears, a broken man staring into the face of his nightmare.
"Start talking."
And he did. For the next hour, through sobs and gasps and pleas, he emptied himself of every scrap of information.
I didn't need to use the tools again—the threat had been enough.
By the time he finished, he was pale from blood loss and I knew more about the operation than most of the agents involved.
I stood, wiping my bloody hands on a rag. "You've been very helpful."
"Please," he whispered, his voice raw. "You said you'd let me go."
I paused, tilting my head. "Did I? I don't recall making that promise."
The hope drained from his face, replaced by the dull acceptance of a man who knew he was already dead. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Unfortunately for Hillabrand, his body wasn’t able to hold up as long as I would have preferred. When the light drained from his eyes, I punched him repeatedly just to get some of the remaining anger out before I went and investigated the allegations of Elin’s involvement.
His face was a bloody mess, completely unrecognizable by the time I was done. I stood there, drawing heavy, deep breaths, trying to calm the rage that was billowing inside of me. Yet, as that rage stood before my heart, trying to shred it, the love I felt for her stood in front, denying access.
There had to be some reasonable answer to all of this. I tried to collect my thoughts, but dread filled my veins in anticipation of what she would say when I confronted her. Each ragged breath I took tasted like guilt and copper.
The last couple months, Elin had let me in further than I thought she would, and I’d let myself believe it was real.
I’d convinced myself that the distance between us was only temporary, that the way she softened when she laughed meant she’d been opening up, even if she’d never say it.
The memory of sharing the bed in her office haunted me.
There were nights, after the world was quiet and the business of the day was only a memory, when I would lie in bed and imagine her beside me, breath rising and falling, the curve of her back against my chest the only evidence I needed that I was safe and wanted.
Now, every one of those small moments, her head on my shoulder, her laughter, the warmth of her fingers on my wrist, were lined with barbed wire. Had it all been a trick? Was every smile a calculated move, every sigh a message to someone else?
Harley, always the practical one, stepped between me and the corpse and grabbed my shoulders. His grip was firm but not unkind. “Gavriel,” he said, shaking me a little, his knuckles white against the fabric of my shirt. “Stop spinning out. We’ll figure this out. You need to talk to her.”
I shoved my bloody hands into the sink and scrubbed hard, as if I could scrape away the doubt, but it only spread deeper. I stared at him. “What’s the point? If she’s the leak, if she’s the reason—”
“She’s not,” Harley said, and for a second there was an echo of the little boy I’d known, the one who’d followed me around the block and wanted to know what being a grown-up felt like. “She loves you. Anyone with blood in their veins can see that.”
There was nothing in his eyes but conviction, and for a moment I almost let myself believe him.
“She’s had dozens of chances to bury you, if that’s what she wants.
She hasn’t. She’s got her own reasons for every move she makes, but you?
You’re the only one she lets herself be honest with.
” Harley’s jaw was set, the old scar on his chin puckering with the effort of holding back everything he wanted to say.
“Go to her. Don’t hide from this. You’re not your father, Gavriel—you don’t run from the people you love. ”
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “You sure about that?”
He shook me harder. “Yeah, I am. You’re more than your old man, and you’re more than this shitty basement.” He let go, and his voice dropped. “So, go. Find her.”
I nodded, but fear had already wrapped itself around my spine. Elin. I could see the way her eyes narrowed when she was thinking hard. I could smell the scent of her shampoo on the pillow.
I dried my hands on a rag, smearing the blood more than cleaning it up. The nerves in my fingers still buzzed, but it was nothing compared to the growing ache in my chest.
Harley followed me up the stairs and out into the grimy hallway.
“Are you coming with?” I asked, turning to Harley. Anger was starting to replace the dread. If she’d played me, she would learn firsthand just how ruthless I could be.
He shook his head. “She’ll talk to you. But . . . watch your back, all right? I’ll keep an eye on things here. If there’s more fallout from this, you’ll want to be ready.”
I nodded and stepped out into the chilly evening.
I’d lost track of how long we were down there, but now the air was thick with the threat of rain, and the wind carried the distant wail of sirens and the metallic tang of burnt rubber.
I mounted my bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me, and let it idle while I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what I’d say.
The truth was, I didn’t know if I’d throttle her or beg her to tell me that none of it was real.