Chapter 32 #2
“Let’s save some time, shall we, Henry?” His voice is calm.
Which somehow makes it more unsettling. Declan grips the front of Henry’s shirt and forces his attention back to him.
“We know exactly who you are.” Henry’s bravado falters for a fraction of a second.
“We know who you’re connected to,” Declan continues. “For now, that’s irrelevant.”
The room falls silent. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Henry’s breathing comes a little faster than before.
“We have questions.” Declan leans forward slightly. “You have answers.”
A laugh escapes Henry. It’s forced and hollow. “I ain’t telling you shit.” He shifts in the chair, the restraints rattling softly. “If you know who I’m connected to, then you know it’s in your best interest to let me go.”
His gaze moves between the three of us. “I know who you are too,” he continues, trying to reclaim some of his confidence. “And money won’t save you.”
Beside me, Uncle Duncan remains perfectly still.
Declan just smiles. The expression never reaches his eyes.
Henry notices. I watch the moment realization begins to creep in.
For the first time since waking up, he’s starting to understand something important.
This isn’t a negotiation. And he’s not the one in control.
Declan walks over to the cart and picks up an ice pick. It’s become his preferred weapon. Ever since Xavier’s attackers were in this very room. He turns it over in his hand as he walks back across the room. Unhurried and casual, like he has all the time in the world.
The fluorescent lights catch on the polished metal, sending brief flashes across the sterile room.
Declan runs a thumb along the handle, studying it with mild interest. Henry’s eyes never leave it.
Not once. The bravado from a moment ago begins to crack.
I watch him swallow, watch the muscles in his jaw tighten.
His gaze keeps darting back to the ice pick as if he can’t stop himself.
Fear is finally catching up to him. Declan notices it too. He has always been good at reading people. Better at exploiting what he finds.
“Interesting,” Declan murmurs. He spins the ice pick between his fingers. Henry flinches. The movement is small. Barely noticeable, but in the silent room, it may as well have been a shout.
A slow smile spreads across Declan’s face. “There you are.”
Henry’s breathing quickens. “What do you want to know?” He glances at me quickly before turning his eyes back on the ice pick.
“What was your instructions for handling Jaxon’s debt?” Declan asks, taking a step closer to Henry as he speaks.
Henry’s answer comes too quickly, too smooth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Declan sighs. The sound is almost disappointed, like Henry has failed a test.
“That’s unfortunate.”
The room goes still. Henry’s eyes widen. With a flick of his wrist, the ice pick lodges into Henry’s thigh. The scream that comes from Henry fills the room.
“Let’s try this again,” Declan says as he removes the ice pick. Henry sucks in a sharp breath. His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscles ticking beneath his skin.
“What were your instructions?” Henry’s lips press into a thin line of defiance. Trying to hold on to whatever confidence he has left.
Declan studies him for a moment. Almost thoughtfully. Like he’s trying to decide how much patience he has left. Apparently not much.
“Still not talking?” Declan sighs. He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Henry swallows. The bravado from earlier is gone now. Fear has taken its place.
“I can do this for a while until I get bored.” Declan’s voice remains conversational. “Trust me, you don’t want that.” He takes a step closer. “Besides, my next throw will be through your dick.”
For the first time since waking up, Henry doesn’t have a comeback. He just stares. Breathing hard. Trying to decide whether whatever he’s protecting is worth the situation he’s found himself in.
“Suit yourself.” Declan raises the ice pick.
Panic flashes across Henry’s face. “Okay! Okay, fuck, you’re crazy.” The words tumble out of him. He takes a deep breath.
“That bitch assaulted Manny Deluga and that couldn’t stand. He was supposed to fight until restitution was made.”
The room goes silent. I don’t remember crossing it. One second I’m standing beside Uncle Duncan. Next, I’m directly in front of Henry. The chair rattles against the floor.
Henry’s eyes widen. “Don’t.”
My voice comes out low. Dangerous. “Don’t call him that again.” The punch to his gut has him doubling over as far as his restraints will allow. He gags as he tries to find the breath that I knocked out of him. I force myself to take a step back.
“We already knew that.” My voice is steady again. “What we want to know is how much.” I lean forward slightly. “He’s been fighting for over eight months. How much was the debt?”
Henry looks away. That alone tells me everything I need to know. He knows I’m not going to like his answer. My jaw tightens.
I don’t know what the fight with the Russian was worth.
I don’t know how much money changed hands every time Jaxon stepped into that cage.
But I do know what Danny told me. Jaxon’s winnings alone are well over two hundred thousand dollars.
More than enough to clear almost any debt.
Yet somehow he was still fighting, still being dragged back into that cage, still being told he owed more.
The math doesn’t add up. Unless the debt was never meant to be paid.
Henry keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding mine. Avoiding everyone in the room. The silence stretches.
“Henry.” My voice is quiet. The kind of quiet that makes people nervous. His gaze flicks toward me for a fraction of a second before darting away again. Wrong move. I grip Henry’s ear and twist.
“How much?” This time, there is no mistaking the warning in my tone.
“A hundred K,” Henry yells out.
“Then why the fuck is he still fighting?” I growl out.
“I didn’t give Manny all the money.” Henry sobs out. He knows his mistake and that he’s going to pay for it with his life.