8. Chapter 8 #2
A dense blow struck flesh. Air burst from the man’s lungs in a harsh grunt.
Then he laughed.
“You’ll need more men than this, you useless cunts.”
His accent carried both Irish and American influences, but the rough cadence and rounded vowels were unmistakably Irish beneath his anger. My mother had taught me English before my father replaced her lessons with rules, so I understood every filthy word the stranger threw at his captors.
Unhurried footsteps approached down the corridor. The heavy door groaned open, then slow, measured steps entered the room.
The guards stopped talking.
Silence followed Father wherever he went. The men around him had learned the cost of giving him anything less than their full attention.
“Take off his hood,” my father ordered.
Fabric rustled.
“Lachlan Byrnes.”
The name came through the shaft clearly, and I stored it away with every other detail that might matter.
“Aye, Delgado,” the prisoner answered. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Father let the sarcasm pass, at least for now.
“You know why you’re here.”
“Because Nikolai Volkov burned your brothel and wounded your pride?”
“The club can be rebuilt,” my father said. “I took a Syndicate captain from beneath Volkov’s own security’s noses. A Byrnes in chains is worth far more than any building. Now we’ll see how much Volkov is willing to lose to get you back.”
“Then you’ve misread the man. Nik doesn’t take kindly to threats. When he comes for me, he’ll bury you.”
No sound came through the shaft for several beats. My father had mutilated men for less, yet Lachlan’s threat went unpunished.
What made Lachlan Byrnes valuable enough for Ciro Delgado to let it pass?
“He took merchandise worth millions from my auction, and that will not go unanswered.” My father’s voice had an unfamiliar edge, sending a chill down my spine.
Lachlan gave a short, humorless laugh. “Lacey was never yours.”
Of course my father had called her merchandise.
Men in my father’s world spoke of women as property so casually that they rarely bothered lowering their voices around me.
Girls belonged to Ciro. Women belonged to buyers.
Wives belonged to husbands. Even I belonged to my father because his blood ran through my veins.
“The Sacrifice was mine,” my father said. “The women inside it were mine. Volkov killed my soldiers, burned my club, and stole what I intended to sell.”
“Women aren’t products for you to sell.”
“Everything has a price.”
“Sounds as though you’re shit at protecting your investments.”
Movement broke out below, but my father’s quiet “Wait” stopped it.
“The fire was only the beginning,” my father said. “Your Syndicate has cost me territory, shipments, men, and allies whose patience is wearing thin. Then your brother returned from Madrid with records that could destroy men far more powerful than Nikolai Volkov.”
“Evidence doesn’t belong to the men it condemns.”
“Those records implicate men who control banks, corporations, foundations, and governments.”
“And the women and girls those men bought, sold, and buried,” Lachlan said. “They’re the reason those records matter to The Syndicate.”
The words reached deeper than any of his curses.
He wasn’t only defending the woman he called Lacey. He was defending every woman my father had tried to sell through his club, even those whose suffering had been reduced to evidence and whose names Lachlan might never know.
“What has Volkov learned from the Madrid files?” my father asked.
“Enough to make you afraid of what he knows.”
“Tell me which names Volkov has connected, where the money and companies lead, and who else has seen what he uncovered, and I’ll spare you the worst of what comes next.”
A ragged laugh echoed through the shaft. “Are you serious? You think I’ll just tell you what you want to know?”
“You’ll answer,” my father said calmly. “The only question is how much pain it’ll take before betraying The Syndicate becomes easier than protecting your brothers.”
“Then settle in, Delgado. I’ve always been shit at betrayal, and pain’s never motivated me.”
A blow landed with a flat, brutal thud, and Lachlan’s breath broke around a curse.
My fingers curled around the edge of the stool.
“Pain motivates everyone,” my father said. “It works faster on some than others, but it always loosens the tongue. You’re enduring it because you believe Volkov will come for you.”
“He will.”
“He may make an effort. That doesn’t mean he’ll risk everything he’s built to recover a single captain. Men like Volkov protect their power first.”
“Obviously, you understand nothing about the man.”
“Volkov helped destroy his own father and took control of the Russian bratva Viktor left behind,” Father said. “He understands that blood is negotiable when power is at stake. A man willing to turn on his own father won’t sacrifice an empire for you.”
“Viktor ruled through fear.” His next words came out in a growl. “Nik rules because men choose him. That’s why you’re too small-minded to understand what brotherhood means.”
“Fear and loyalty produce the same obedience.”
“No. Fear is why your men will run the moment you start losing. Your—”
A harsh blow connected, cutting his next words off. Another followed before he could recover, his breath rasping in and out unevenly.
Several seconds passed before he spoke again.
“Tell your lad to put his hips into it,” he snarled. “He’s embarrassing himself.”
“I’ve already won, Byrnes,” my father said.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “That so?”
“If The Syndicate stops acting on the evidence from Madrid, stops interfering with the flesh trade, and leaves my routes and allies untouched, you remain alive.”
“And if they don’t?”
“They’ll receive proof that I have you alive. After that, every name they leak, account they freeze, property they raid, or associate they kill will cost you something—a hand, an eye, an ear.” Father chuckled. “It’s interesting how many body parts a man can live without.”
Lachlan huffed. “They won’t leave women in cages to keep me breathing.”
“Then they’ll come for you, exactly as you claim.
” My father’s voice remained calm. “Nothing enters El Salvador without my men knowing. Not a private aircraft. Not a foreign security team. Not a convoy crossing the border or a boat showing up on its shores. Anyone inside this country who helps Volkov will expose himself as disloyal to me.”
“That’s your play?” Lachlan scoffed. “Use me to flush out anyone willing to help Nik?”
“Every asshole who lifts a finger to help Volkov will get it cut off. I’ll eliminate them while he shows me the full extent of his capabilities.
” Father sucked on his teeth. “If he obeys, I protect my interests. If he attempts a rescue, I identify his assets and everyone in El Salvador willing to serve him.”
Lachlan pulled in a strained breath.
“Keep me alive, and you give Nik time. Kill me, and you lose your leverage.”
“You mistake time for an advantage. Your brotherhood makes you predictable. Threaten one of you, and the others risk everything they’ve built.”
“Aye,” Lachlan rasped. “They’ll risk all of it to come for you.”
“You’re collateral, Byrnes. You’ll live as long as The Syndicate bows to my terms.”
Lachlan gave no answer.
“You’ll look into a camera and tell Volkov you’re alive. Then you’ll explain what he must do to keep you that way.”
“Give me a camera, and I’ll tell him to release every name in those files and burn whatever’s left of your empire.”
My father ignored the threat.
“You’ll be presentable for the recording, but that doesn’t mean your time here will be painless.” His voice hardened. “Left thigh. Stay away from the knee.”
Something cut through the air with a low whistle.
The strike landed with a sharp crack, wrenching a loud grunt from Lachlan. Metal rattled once, then only his labored breathing reached the grate.
“What will you tell Volkov?” Father asked.
“That you need me alive more than I need you dead.”
“Again,” Father ordered.
The same low whistle cut through the room. A sharp crack followed, and a choked shout tore from Lachlan before he forced it silent. Afterward, only uneven breaths reached the grate.
Father waited until they eased.
“That recording is the only reason you’re still breathing.”
The dungeon door opened.
Sharp heels clicked across the concrete, each step tightening the knot in my chest.
“He’d better be awake and in good enough condition for me to work with,” Marcela said.
My spine locked. It had been a long time since I’d heard that lecherous voice.