2. Aiden
Aiden
A low growl rumbles from Bear the moment I open the door, the vibration carrying through the floor. It has both men standing stock-still, not daring to move.
I pat his head in appreciation. “Heel.”
He creeps backward but stays close.
“Is he going to bite me?” With an eye on Bear, Silas shoves Cort ahead of him, forcing the other man through the doorway.
“Not unless you give him a reason to.” I step back, tracking both men as they pass.
Cort looks worse for wear. I thought he looked like shit a few days ago and didn’t think it could get worse. I was wrong. The left side of his face is swollen. The mark of a powerful punch. Older than the fresh, bloody one on the right.
“Move your arse.” A forceful nudge from Silas causes Cort to stumble, landing him on all fours next to Bear’s menacing teeth.
Cort freezes. His gaze locks with my dog, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“Don’t break eye contact,” I warn.
His voice falters, low and uneven, barely reaching me. “Why?”
“Show fear, and you’ll only encourage him. He’ll want to prove he’s in charge.” Leaning against the wall, I enjoy the show.
A tremor runs through Cort’s body, but he holds his position, refusing to break eye contact.
He loses.
Bear shifts forward—just enough to make his point—and Cort topples, curling into himself on the floor.
I bite back a laugh. If a dog could roll his eyes, Bear just did. He backs off, already bored with the man whimpering on the floor like a wuss.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Cort sobs into his hands. “He sent his men to my house and threatened my wife and daughter.”
I squat in front of him, staring down at the coward who’s pissed himself in my entryway while Bear stands guard. “Who?”
Silas kicks him hard in the arse. “Tell him.”
“Marvin. He works with the Russians.” His shoulders cave as he rakes a hand through his hair, gripping hard. “I had no choice. I didn’t know.”
Marvin works for the Russians now? Interesting.
I wonder if Trent knows. I can’t imagine he’d be happy about that.
Marvin, a man who swore himself to the Doyle family, working with the Russians.
He’s never met a Russian he trusts or likes.
They’re public enemy number one, and he’s made it his mission to put as many of them in the ground as he can.
With a sharp snap of my fingers, I call Bear off, then grab Cort’s shirt, yanking him to his feet. “Know what?”
“What they were planning. I was only trying to keep my family safe. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t know they were going to kill him.” Cort shudders, the movement impossible to ignore.
“You saw them kill Rico?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head, his nerves getting the better of him. “Not exactly. You two called, and I had to go. I just assumed it was them. The Russians weren’t happy when I left. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t give them what they wanted.”
“And they just let you go?” I don’t believe that for a second.
“I was warned. Told to make sure Mr. Doyle didn’t become suspicious. To stick with the plan and all would be fine.” He swallows, still too afraid to move with Bear behind me, looking ready to rip his face off. “So, I did.”
Over Cort’s head, I lock eyes with Silas. He looks ready to kill and ask questions later. Good thing I’m the levelheaded one here. It’s best to get the answers before you start dropping bodies.
Releasing Cort’s shirt, I brush it off and steady him on his feet. “Follow me. I want every single detail. If I sense hesitation, I won’t stop Silas from doing what needs to be done. Unlike Trent, he doesn’t ask twice; he goes straight for the kill. Do we understand each other?”
“I like that plan.” Silas cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. “I’m itching to kill someone.”
Leading them into my small office, I gesture for them to sit.
Behind my desk, I grab three highballs from the liquor cabinet.
Opening the glass door to retrieve the scotch, I press the concealed button beneath the wooden lip before removing the bottle, activating the bugs hidden throughout the house.
Every word from this point on will be recorded.
“Drink?” With the whiskey bottle in hand, I kick the cabinet closed. “Dry or ice?”
I prefer ice, so I open the ice bin and drop two cubes into mine.
“Dry,” Silas says as he takes the seat closest to the door. “This is nice and cozy.”
“It works.” Two more cubes clink into my glass as I turn to Cort. “What about you?”
“Ice.” He sinks into the only available seat with a grunt, his gaze snagging on the items scattered across my desk. They interrupted me right in the middle of putting things away. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes,” Silas answers before I can. “But it’ll be quicker if you—”
“No.” I turn, pulling out my chair. “Not if you tell us what we need to know and then help us. You do us no good dead.”
Silas reaches for the drink I set in front of him and tosses it back. “Whatever. It depends on what you share, I guess. Start from the beginning.”
Pushing the highball in Cort’s direction, I nod for him to start talking. A few sentences in, I grab the bottle of scotch and place it on the desk, anticipating both men will need a refill. Not me. I’ll nurse this one—one of us needs to remain sober.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Judging by the way Silas’s hand tightens around his glass, neither can he. Cort’s dug himself one hell of a grave. I’ll do my best to keep him from dying a slow, painful death inside it.
“Hold up. Let me make sure I’m following.” Reaching into my desk, I grab a notebook and pen to write this down. “Four months ago, Rico stopped by your store looking to sell you this brooch.” I tap it with the tip of my pen to make sure.
His attention keeps drifting back to it, like it might bite. “Where did you get that?”
“You don’t get to ask the questions.” I push it toward him. “Tell me more about this. What is something like this worth?”
Silas leans in to study it. Something flickers behind his eyes as he does—a memory, maybe. Of what, I’m not sure.
“It’s a rare piece. Those who recognize its true value might call it priceless. That’s what I told Rico. I turned him away because I couldn’t afford to buy it.” With a shaky hand, he lifts his drink and takes a modest sip.
To move this along, I remind him where he left off. “Then Trent showed up.”
“Right. I was getting there. The two men had a heated discussion before Rico stormed out, taking the brooch with him.” Cort reaches up and wipes a hand across his brow.
“And before you ask what it was about, I don’t know.
They weren’t yelling, just talking in hushed tones, but their body language said enough. ”
I tap my pen on the desk and glance over at Silas. He’s barely containing his anger. My next comment will set him off.
“Trent was there to collect his merchandise, which you’ve been storing in your basement.”
Right on cue, Silas growls at the mention of his father and what he was doing behind his back.
Swallowing hard, Cort nods again. “I was uncomfortable with our arrangement because it put my store at risk. But I owed him after he bailed me out of a sticky situation.”
Silas can’t sit still any longer. “What situation? And don’t say it was those goddamn antiques you tried to con me into fucking buying.”
Cort’s face loses more color, leaving it ghostly pale.
“I’m sorry about that. That was the Russians, not me.
Then you demanded the diamond.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he can’t bear to look at Silas.
“Once those vultures heard about it, they went to my store wanting to see it, forcing me to tell them the truth.”
“Which was?” Silas waves his hand in a slow circle when Cort pauses.
“The attention Trent brought to my store made me uneasy about leaving my diamond there. So, I went to Rico.” Cort takes another sip of his drink.
“Our business relationship was always positive. He helped me move merchandise, and I gave him a cut of the profits. An investor of sorts. He agreed to store my diamond in his secured safe, and I promised to do all I could to help him sell the brooch.”
There’s more. I can feel it. I’ll give him one chance to say it himself. “On what condition?”
Cort’s eyes grow large. “What?”
“Cort, are you forgetting our agreement?” My pen drums steadily against the pad. “You get to live as long as you don’t hold back. What was his condition?”
Rico wouldn’t do anything just because it was a nice thing to do, investor or not. If I’ve learned anything since meeting him, it’s this.
He slumps back, the fight draining out of him, and blurts it out. “To let him know when the next shipment for Mr. Doyle was due to arrive. I told him I didn’t know those details.”
“But?”
“They’d call to give me time to close.” Swishing the amber liquid in his glass, Cort sighs and gives his head a small shake. “The best I could do was call him when that happened.”
His head drops as he slumps forward. “And that’s what I did. When Mr. Doyle came to collect two days later… it was gone.”
“Gone?”
Cort nods, sweat beading faster across his forehead. “Gone. Trent was pissed.”
Silas scoffs. “Of course he was, you fucking tosser. You double-crossed him.”
This time, Cort shakes his head. “He wasn’t pissed at me or Rico.
And when I asked Rico about it, he swore he never had the chance to call anyone.
He’d been in a business meeting, one he wasn’t about to leave just to screw Trent.
And by the time it was over, he’d forgotten all about it.
So, it wasn’t Rico. And Trent seemed to know this. ”
“And you believe Rico told you the truth? Cause I’m not so sure I do.” Silas tosses his drink back. “Who the fuck was he pissed at? Or do you even know?”
“Mr. Cygan.” With shaky hands, he set his empty tumbler on my desk.
Lifting the decanter to refill Cort’s, I ask, “Who’s Mr. Cygan?”
The stark panic in Cort’s eyes rivets my attention. “The man Urick and Tank work for.”
“Have you met him?” This is a new player even I’ve never heard of.
Who the fuck is he?