Perfect.
My fist flexes, my grip tightening around the thick black metal.
And then I move.
In two strides, I’m at the shower. The man behind the cloudy door turns, putting his back to the spray, and he sees me, sees the movement.
But it’s too late.
Using my momentum, I throw my fist forward through the thin door, sending shards of plastic in every direction.
My punch carries on, my body turning with it, until my reinforced knuckles meet with the man’s chest.
My forward motion was slowed by the door, so I don’t hit him with my full force, but it’s enough to stun him, to take him out of the fight before it even starts.
Rob reaches past me into the shower and yanks the target forward by the arm, causing the naked man to stumble through the broken doorframe.
Shower guy is still trying to catch his breath from the hit to his solar plexus, so he’s not screaming, but he does try to take a swing at Rob.
Except I’m behind him now. And with an open hand, I shove his head to the side. Hard. Into the mirrored medicine cabinet.
The whole thing caves in, shattered glass cutting into the flesh of his face.
He does scream now. But it’s too late. No one is coming to save him.
CHAPTER 63
Val
I let the steam swirl around me as I stand under the powerful shower spray, washing away the feelings from earlier and hoping Dominic is being safe.
CHAPTER 64
Dom
With my right hand in a fist, I tap the underside of my wedding ring on the raised metal.
The metallic clink marks my approach as I take the final step into the shitty house’s basement.
It’s unfinished. Just a bare concrete floor with empty shelves along one side of the room. And just like the neighborhood, it’s perfect for our needs.
My pace is slow as I near the man from the shower.
I stop two feet in front of him. “Who sent you?”
The man arches his head back like he might try to spit on me, but the arm around his neck tightens.
Hard to spit when you can’t breathe.
Instead of dealing with ropes and tape and shit like that, we just use manpower.
One of my guys stands behind the captive, his arm around the man’s neck and his other hand on the back of the man’s head. Quickest way to subdue the captive as needed. Then I have two more men, one on either side of the captive. Their arms are hooked around the man’s elbows, immobilizing his arms, and their feet are on either side of his, keeping the man standing exactly where we put him.
I turn my head to look at the man from the living room, three more of my men holding him in the same way.
Rob is behind me, and two more guys flank the bottom of the stairs. No one is getting out of this basement unless I want them to.
I run my tongue over my teeth, debating if I should start with the living room guy instead, but I decide to stick with the shower guy.
Neither of them looks like much. But killers for hire rarely do. Just some normal-looking white dudes with brown hair. No discernible ethnicity. Nondescript clothes.
And thankfully, one of the guys grabbed a pair of shorts from somewhere, making shower man put them on so we don’t have to stare at his dick during the entire interrogation.
I roll my shoulders out once. “You’re going to tell us who hired you. And then you’re going to die. The only unknown is how much it’s gonna hurt. And that depends entirely on you.”
The arm around his neck loosens enough for him to talk.
The man gasps a few times, catching his breath. And I allow him this.
For a moment.
“Who sent you? What’s the mission?”
He tries to smile, but the slices across his cheek make it hard. “You’re the mission, tough guy.”
I incline my head. “Well, here I am. Though I don’t think this is a real mission accomplished moment for you.”
He shrugs. “Maybe not. But we took a few of you with us, though. Didn’t we?”
My gun is back in my holster, so I use my empty left hand to slap him across the face.
A slap is both painful and degrading. And satisfying as fuck for me.
“You’ve got a lot to pay for. And we’ll get to that. But I want to know who sent you.” My voice is even, almost friendly. But it’s a lie. Because even if he didn’t pull the trigger, he’s involved. And he’ll die for that.
He glares at me, pissed at being caught and trying his best not to be scared about dying.
“Why are you here? You a hire?” I know he is. I just want him to tell me.
He tries to shrug. “If I tell you I was paid to do this, you gonna let me go?”