Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Suddenly, I dart forward, knife open, and he flails all around as I bring it to his face.
“Hold still, motherfucker, or you’ll have no lips left when I’m done,” I warn as I press the tip of the blade into what I think is the space between his lips.
He screams, veins in his neck bulging as little beads of red roll down his chin. I slide the blade right, spin it and go back left. He gasps, spitting blood, eyes clenching closed. All the while, Rayo remains silent but watchful.
“There. You can speak now.” I look at the few layers of skin I skimmed from his lips as he tries to push them from his mouth so he doesn’t swallow a piece of himself. “But before you say a word, I’ll give you two …” He shakes with anger, waiting, so I make him wait a little longer before I say, “Paraquat dichloride.”
Instant.
Literally, in the span of a single nanosecond, all the color drains from Otto Henshaw’s face. He grows ghostly white, an involuntary shudder making its way down his spine. It takes him a moment, but then his eyes dart toward his son and I’m betting right now he’s regretting having ever shared what he thought was a simple truth, having never expected it to come right back around to him in a situation like this.
See, Rocklin gets pissy when her daddy doesn’t tell her every little detail, but at the end of the day, he does it for a reason, and we’re staring at the biggest one.
Otto is no Rayo and he didn’t think that part through—what your kid knows will hurt them.
Otto’s eyes fall to the concrete floor beneath his bare feet, and I cut a quick glance at Rayo, who narrows his in question, but when I wink at him, his lip curls, and I’m focused back on Otto before he has a chance to catch the interaction.
Like I knew he would be, Otto is willing to play the game. Most people are when their back’s against the wall … or should I say when their limbs are locked in steel bracelets and bolted to a basement floor.
“What do you want?” he whispers, but everyone is waiting to find out what the guy will say next, so there’s not a sound to drown out his words, leaving them heard by all.
“I want to know where you keep your records.”
His brows furrow. “What records?”
“All the shady ones, the favors for friends or acquaintances.”
He starts to shake his head, but I slowly shake mine, and he stops.
“Don’t lie.”
“I don’t keep records of everything. There are some things I have but not all–”
He cuts off with a sharp groan of pain when a dart is shot straight into his groin.
Cutting a quick glance over my shoulder, I grin at Hayze.
He’s lounging in the chair with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand and smiles around it. “Stole this from the curly-haired wet dream. Good to know it works.”
Chuckling, I turn back to Otto.
“Sorry to break it to you, but your son’s already been broken, and even if he didn’t tell us you keep records for every little job done, I’d have known you did. A man capable of what you did?” The insinuation is clear, and the way he shrinks into himself is comical, as if tucking his shoulders up high will keep the man to his left from staring right at him.
“No way you wouldn’t hold on to every little thing, just in case the perfect opportunity popped up for some good old-fashioned blackmail, but I’ll go ahead and tell you, I’m not interested in what you’ve done in your lifetime. I give no fucks about all the things I don’t know. All I’m looking for is one thing and one thing only. The rest means nothing to me. I’ll even burn it right here in front of you to prove that.”
“Why should I believe you? You have me tied up in a cell?” he spits angrily.
“True.” I nod. “But what have you got to lose other than your life, the life of your son, and the end of your line? The way Hayze tells it, your right-hand man jumped right in and is doing a real good job of comforting your wife right now in your absence.”
“His body wouldn’t even be cold yet, and she’s got another warm one on top of her.” Hayze chuckles behind me, but I keep my eyes on Otto.
“What exactly is it you want to know?” he asks as if he’s in a position to, but at least he’s talking.
“Your front business is helping poor immigrants get on their feet, even though we know they get the shit end of the stick, but what I’m interested in is your back-end dealings. Way I hear it, and from what your boy over there has confirmed, you help people disappear, those with or without a desire to do so.”