3. Casper #3
"You'll let me go?" He sounds incredulous, and for good reason. "If I tell you what I know?"
Instead of reminding him that he's in no place to try to negotiate, I nod my head.
"Once you make up for turning your back on us, of course.
You're one of our best, Davis. I believe in second chances.
Hell, occasionally, I meet some men who even get a third chance.
We're very forgiving. You have my word, you'll walk out of this place alive.
Just don't lie to me, that's all I ask."
The sweet tone of my voice must do something to him, because he relaxes.
Hardly surprising, Davis cracks with ease.
He reveals that the Ironwood Hounds are originally from Ironwood Heights.
Having some city dwellers come to the quiet town of Meadow Falls makes me ponder whether it's a club trying to simply move or to expand and grow.
He admits to talking to them through burners, using the same methods that we've used.
He then adds some filler that he needed the money, and I have to plant a boot between his thighs to remind him that time is precious.
Unfortunately, his information is starting to grow slimmer by the minute.
"You've got names, I'm sure." I reach toward my other side and unsheath my other knife. The beauties are identical in every way. Ignoring Davis's shaky breath, I turn toward Tank and give it to him.
Noticing Davis look over at Tank when the bruiser pulls out a lighter, I snap my fingers in front of him.
"Names, Dave. We're almost there, man. Who gave you the money you desperately needed?"
"Cerberus!" he sputters, spit and sweat spraying from his lips as he frantically tries to find his voice. "That's who runs them! They all use weird code names. I can't remember the rest, I swear to God! You have to believe me—"
"Oh, I do." Lifting a hand, I offer him a warm, reassuring smile that goes all the way to my eyes. "You've been super helpful. Is there anything else popping into that brain of yours?"
Davis shakes his head, panting, tears finally tracking through the grime on his cheeks.
"Perfect." I stand up, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh as I stretch my arms. I drift around to the side of his chair, my movements lazy and unhurried. Before he can even realize the interrogation is over, I reach down and snatch his left hand, pinning his wrist flat against the armrest.
Davis panics instantly, his breath hitching into a terrified shriek as he tries to yank his arm back, but the heavy ropes hold him perfectly still.
"We're very forgiving, Davis," I remind him, my voice dropping into that sweet, teasing lightness.
I lean over him, looking at him over the rims of my glasses with total fondness.
"But what we don't want is for you to leave here and forget what you did to us.
Threatening people with words is overrated.
Personally, I've learned that your kind are better at visual learning. Don't you agree?"
I isolate his pinkie finger, pinching the tip. Davis lets out a raw, echoing scream before the metal even touches him.
"If it means anything," I whisper, flashing him one last, bright, dimpled grin as I position the blade, "I haven't met anyone yet who needed a third chance."
Lucky for him, I keep my weapons sharp. When I slice down, there’s no resistance—just a clean, heavy thud as the blade bites straight through the joint and into the metal armrest.
The scream that tears out of Davis is inhuman, a jagged sound that vibrates the fillings in my teeth. The blood comes immediately, a hot, dark crimson pulse that stains the gray concrete.
I don't even flinch as a few stray droplets catch the cuff of my jacket. I just look over my shoulder, offering a patient nod to our enforcer. "All yours, big guy."
Tank steps up, his massive frame blotting out the overhead light.
The air fills with the sickening stench of burning copper and seared flesh as he presses the red-hot, glowing flat of my other blade directly against the raw stump.
Davis’s body arches so violently the chair almost flips, his eyes rolling back into his head until he finally goes limp, dry-heaving into his chest.
Once the bleeding is completely stopped, I tuck my clean knife back into its sheath. I drift back into Davis’s personal space, entirely unbothered by the scent lingering in the air, and clap a heavy, affectionate hand onto his uninjured shoulder.
I lean in close, my cool breath brushing his sweaty ear, my voice dropping back into that sweet, teasing drawl.
"See? You're a lucky man, Dave. You got your second chance. You and me? We're all good now." I chuckle softly, giving his shoulder a friendly, encouraging squeeze before I pull away.
Adjusting the rims of my glasses, I look over at Tank and give him a cheerful grin.
"Clean up the mess when he wakes up, alright?" I call out over my shoulder, already turning my back on the blood and heading for the rustic exit. "I've got some planning to do."
A lot of planning.