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Let’s just say, they either have a world of pain coming their way. From there, it’s up to Carter’s and my discretion whether they keep feeling anything at all, period.
Two rules.
Two.
You’d think these two should be easy enough to memorize, right?
Wrong.
“Please,” Preston whimpers.
A plea I ignore.
My eyes rake over the dark mahogany wood panels lining the walls of the torture room beneath our office. From there, I trail my gaze over the one piece of furniture on the back wall—the pristine white dresser where our torturing devices lie.
I won’t be using any of them on Mr. Richards tonight, though. They’re reserved for those who actually have tolerance.
This weak, slobbering idiot would go into shock and die in a second. I don’t want him dead. His biggest client—Christopher Boroughs, a known hitman—is one we appreciate here at the hotel. Thanks to him, the asshole’s life will be spared.
“I’m begging you.” There it is, more snot running down his top lip.
Repulsive.
“Jesus fuck. Grow a fucking pair, Preston.” I cross my arms over my chest, staring right through him. Showing him exactly what he means to me. Nothing.
“I haven’t brought anyone else here.” He spits while he talks. Fucking embarrassment. “I swear on my mother’s life.”
“You have to understand something. I have nowhere else better to be other than here. Nothing better to do than make you bleed and break your bones.” I crouch next to the incompetent piece of shit, placing my hands on my knees. “You, on the other hand, would like to leave this room. In one piece, I’d imagine.”
His blue eyes widen, his chin quivering. “Y-yes, Mr. Murdock, but I—”
“No more begging,” I cut him off, pulling on his blond hair before releasing him to the floor.
His head makes a loud thudding sound. Preston sheds a tear. Ugh, some people here are plain losers.
“You opened your mouth, Preston. I don’t give a fuck that it was your brother-in-law you brought over here. Could’ve been the pope for all I care. You broke rule number one.” I grab his chin, forcing his eyes on mine. “That means we have a problem here. I can’t trust you not to spring other surprise visitors on us anymore. So, I’ll ask this one more time and you better give me the answer I need. Who. Else. Have. You. Told?”
“No one.”
I release him. Momentarily. My fist connects with his chin, and he cries out in agony. He’ll have a nasty bruise in the morning. Serves him fucking right.
“I’ll find out, you have my word,” I growl. “When I do, you can count on one thing. And that’s me not being as understanding as I am right now.”
He flinches, thinking another blow is coming his way. Each and every one of the men and women I’ve put in this position does.
We have nothing to fear. We don’t show mercy to anyone who fucks with us.
Carter and I own them.
They know we do. They’ve heard the rumors. We look the part of the grim reapers, too.
To a stranger, we couldn’t have been any more different, Carter and me. Carter’s hair is black, while mine is sandy blond. His eyes are gray, while mine are a dark shade of brown. Carter tends to smile—his psycho grin, but still. I keep my expression stern.
Those who look closer see something that terrifies them.
Neither of us will lose sleep over killing people. Not a fucking wink. While it’s not our job to do that, we won’t hesitate.
Anything to keep the peace and our hold of power.
