6. Aiden #2
“Fuck off. There’s only one woman who holds my interest.” I glance at Merial briefly. “No offense, miss.”
“None taken,” Merial says, sliding off Granger’s lap and walking toward us. “Nice to meet someone with morals. She’s a lucky woman.”
“Watch it, Mer,” the man at the table warns. “Remember what happened last time.”
With a coy smile, she bats her long eyelashes at him. “Sorry, Granger. Didn’t mean you, of course.”
“Top me up and get back here.” He tosses a few more chips onto the table. The sharp clack echoes off the walls, his gaze locked on her retreating form.
Not her, but her arse. No mystery what’s on his mind.
“You got it.” She stops at the liquor cabinet and opens it. Under her breath, low enough only I hear her, she mumbles. “Too bad you’re a rare breed, Aiden. You better hurry. Trent waits for no man.”
Silas steps up next to us, pressing a kiss on Merial’s cheek. “When you finish with that prick, head over to my place. I’ll meet you there when we’re finished. How long have they been playing?”
Her eyes lift to his, and a small, hesitant smile touches her lips. “They started this game around eight last night. There were ten players. These are the last three standing. The others are off somewhere getting their wounds licked.”
A frown takes over my face at that thought, but I don’t say a goddamn word.
Merial notices, her eyes rolling slightly. “Shouldn’t be much longer. Granger’s about to clean them out.”
Reaching into his pocket, Silas’s eyes travel to the poker game. “Granger, you don’t mind if I steal Mer from you, do you?”
The other man scowls, but no one tells the warlord no. “Guess not. Even though I paid extra for her time.”
“How about this? You can have her company until I’m done.” Silas slips something from his pocket and drops it in the drink Merial is pouring.
Granger’s too busy sulking over losing his prize to notice. “Fine. But you’ll owe me.”
Silas grabs a cocktail stick, stirring the drink, then brings it to his mouth pretending to lick it clean. “We’ll talk about that later. You just make sure she’s ready for me. I don’t like waiting.”
Merial lets out a small snicker as she turns to deliver the drink.
That fucker will be lucky if he gets up from the table after he downs the drink Silas just made for him. And while I’m okay with that, I’m not fine with the idea of Silas getting time with her.
Her resemblance to Isabel hits harder that it should, dragging me back to the first night he met my woman.
Silas grips my shoulder and steers me toward the office. Trent and Cort are already there. Once we’re inside, Trent shuts the door and locks it.
Four other men wait inside.
One is Trent’s driver and personal bodyguard, Drake. He’s obviously here to make sure the other three men stayed put while Trent came to get us.
Then there’s the one who isn’t going anywhere. His head hangs low, blood covering his once-white dress shirt. The brass knuckles on the table are a solid clue of what happened.
Another stands in the corner, drink in hand, his chest rising and falling faster, too fast. He’s shaken by what happened before we arrived—anyone would be. He’s ready to bolt.
“Can I go now?” He lifts his drink, the ice clinking with each shaky sip. “I get it. I swear you’ll never have to worry about me pulling that shit. Message received. Please, Mr. Doyle… I just want to go home. I don’t need to see more.”
Trent doesn’t answer right away.
He adjusts his cuffs, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch until it presses in on everyone in the room.
Then he moves. Unhurried. Controlled. Each step echoes against the floor as he closes the distance. When he reaches him, he takes the drink from the man’s hand without breaking eye contact. Then finishes it himself.
“Let me be clear.” His voice is calm, too calm. “The next time you break my rules and end up in my office, you won’t be leaving it.”
The man swallows hard. He’s so nervous I wouldn’t be surprised if he pissed himself.
“This is your first and final warning. I can’t prove you knew what those two limp dicks were up to. Only that you’re friends and guilty by association.” He takes a step closer. “Pick better friends, Kenny.”
Straightening, Trent steps back and gestures toward the door. “Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
Drake is already moving, opening the door for Kenny as he hightails it out of there.
Leaning against his desk, arms crossed, Trent glares at the third man bound to the chair. “Now it’s your turn, Dr. Finnly.”
That name snags my attention. “Dr. Finnly. Well, what are the odds we’d run into each other again so soon?”
Trent’s gaze shifts, sharp and curious. “You know him, Aiden?”
“I know of him. He upset Alma in A&E the night of the fire. Was disrespectful.” I take a seat on the couch across from Dr. Finnly and get comfortable. “I kicked his arse out.”
My focus returns to the doctor. “So what did you do to get your arse dragged into my boss’s office?”
Doc tries to speak, but the duct tape on his mouth reduces it to a muffled noise.
Trent pushes off his desk and steps closer. “He cheated at poker and got caught, didn’t you?”
Dr. Finnly shakes his head wildly, panic bleeding through the sounds he can’t form.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Trent kicks him hard in the shin. “The proof is on your fucking phone.”
“Can I see?” I ask, knowing this shithead is fucked if it’s true.
Drake pulls a phone from his pocket and hands it to me. Rattles off the passcode they’ve clearly beaten out of him, making facial recognition unable to work.
I unlock it, then whistle low.
“Not only did you lie, but you were stupid enough to use your phone.” Opening his photo app, I scroll through a series of images clearly taken here, prompting a tsk of disapproval. “And you took photos. Not just used it—you documented it. Of the ladies, no less. And shitty ones at that.”
I shake my head. “Damn. That’s gonna cost you, dipshit. Three rules broken. I bet you wish you could go back and fix that decision.”
Standing in front of Dr. Finnly, Trent’s gaze shifts past me, landing on Cort, who sways, looking like he might collapse under the weight of it.
“What do you think we should do about this, Mr. Theiss?”
“Please, sir, don’t ask me that.” Cort turns to look at the doctor, while he’s still bent over, dragging in uneven breaths like he might fold any second.
“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” Trent warns, his tone almost bored. “I want you to watch. Because I want you to remember what I’ll do to you later if you lie to me.”
Cort gives him a feeble nod, forcing himself upright. Barely. His eyes are glazed over, and his lips pale.
“Normally, I’d cut off a finger for each rule broken.” Trent picks up the guillotine he uses on his cigars and squeezes it to make a point. “But you cheated, and I hate cheaters.”
He sets the guillotine back on his desk before moving to the wall where a sword hangs. His fingers curl around the sword as he pulls it free.
“I’ve never used this.” He studies the blade. “The man who gave it to me warned me to be careful with it. That if I wasn’t, I could easily cut off something I didn’t mean to.”
He glances sideways. “What do you think, Drake? Believe that’s possible?”
Drake is a man of few words. He’s more about action. Ready and waiting.
“Oh, fuck!” The words fall from Cort’s mouth, and I have to agree.
I’ve witnessed a few of Trent’s interrogations. He always comes up with clever ways to torture those who cross him. But this… this is new. This is something different.
Dr. Finnly knows it too. His eyes widen in horror, locking onto the blade like he understands exactly what’s about to happen.
It’s over almost as quickly as it begins.
With one swift, brutal swing, the blade slices through the air, severing the doctor’s right hand. Blood spurts out from the end. Pulsating, painting the floor in seconds.
Thankfully, I’m out of range.
Cort isn’t. He gets hit right in the face as blood continues to pulsate out of the wound. Serves him right for being so close when Drake chops it off.
He turns, loses whatever’s left in his stomach, the stench of undigested food filling the air. Then he drops where he stands, out cold, landing beside the severed hand right into the bloody pool.
Trent doesn’t hesitate or blink. “Aiden, get that fucker up and move him out of the way.”
His voice steady, like this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Drake, grab a few of the men to dump these two at the nearest hospital. Leave the hand. He doesn’t get to keep that.”
The captain pauses just long enough to let that settle. “I’ll send it to him in a few days as a souvenir, so our new doctor friend doesn’t forget about us.”
Turning to his son, his expression hardens. “And Silas, stop grinning like a damn maniac and tie off his arm. I want him alive. He doesn’t get to take the easy way out.”
Picking up a clean glass, Trent pours himself a rum, and downs it in one smooth motion.
“As soon as this mess is cleaned up, we’ll sit down and chat with Mr. Theiss.” A flicker of anticipation crosses his face. “I’m looking forward to hearing what he has to say.”
Making a move for the door, he doesn’t so much as glance back. “I’m heading to my place. Don’t bother me unless you want to end up like them.”
Then he’s gone.
Fuck.
I don’t have time for this shit. Not when Isabel is out there and whoever took her is still breathing.