AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I nod grimly, following Lev to the warehouse, keeping one step behind him so I can sort out my thoughts before I get in there.
The fact is, I know exactly what happened. That poor fucker who is about to end up in pieces didn’t tip off the feds—or at least, if he did, he wasn’t the only one.
That original tip came from me.
For months now, I’ve been working under an alias, feeding tips to the police and FBI about my father’s criminal activity—at least, the activity pertaining directly to the human trafficking he’s involved in. I’m not trying to cripple his empire entirely—honestly, I don’t give a shit if he sells weapons to the Irish or deals drugs. I could care less about any of that. But I do draw the line at selling women.
Once he got into that business, I decided to make it mine to shut it down.
My chest tightens as I step into the warehouse. Despite the chill outside, it’s hot and stuffy inside the metal structure, and it smells strongly of blood and piss. One look at the man hanging in front of me, and the dark stain down the leg of his trousers, and I know why.
I also feel like shit for what’s about to happen to him. But I don’t have any choice.
For the greater good, and all of that. For my good, because if anyone finds out what I’ve been doing, it’s going to be me hanging up there instead of him.
That’s not something I can allow.
I’m not a self-sacrificing man. I take no pleasure in the fact that this man is about to die, but I’m not the type to give my life for his—or for anyone. And that’s what it would be, if my family found out the truth about what I’ve been doing.
Truthfully, I’ll probably give him a better death than they would give me.
He’s not squeaky-clean, anyway. No one who works for my family is. And likely, if I dug enough, I’d find something on him that would be worth stringing him up.
The man twists in the manacles holding him as I approach, his eyes widening with fear. “I—I don’t know anything,” he splutters, his bare toes scrambling for purchase on the concrete as he tries to push himself reflexively away from me. As if there’s any getting away. As if there’s anything at all he can do to escape his fate.
There’s only three human reactions to a situation like this, though. Fight, flee, or fawn. He can’t do either of the first two, and it’s only a matter of time before he goes for the third.
They all do, eventually. And it never, ever works.
I ignore him for now, walking to the table at one side of the warehouse. “Get a tarp laid out,” I call over to one of the grunts standing around, watching the scene unfold in front of them, and I hear the heavy clunk of boots on concrete as they jump to obey. I can feel Lev’s eyes on my back. Now that I know the situation, I know he’s watching me for hesitation. Watching for some sign that this is personal.
The tricky thing about being an informant is that sometimes, there’s information that no one outside of the family would know. Sometimes, information gets disseminated among the family for exactly that reason—so my father knows if someone is leaking it. And it’s a sensitive thing, to slip information to the feds that will help, without ever leaking anything that would mean my family knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there’s a rat among us.
Thing is, I’m the kind of rat that’s hard to trap.
I hear the low moan that the man behind me lets out, as I heft a metal toolbox onto the table and open the lid. I could do everything that I’m about to just fine with the knife on my belt and a pair of pliers that’s already sitting on the table, but getting someone to talk is as much about showmanship as anything else. The sight of me opening up this toolbox, sorting through the implements inside, is making the man behind me think about what’s possibly coming next. Warming him up to sing sooner rather than later.
The truth is, I won’t use half of what’s in here. Maybe not any of it. Not on this guy, anyway. But he doesn’t know that.
I pick up the pair of pliers on the table, and stride towards him, grabbing a metal folding chair by the back on the way over. I set it down next to him, looking up at his pale face and bloodshot, wide eyes.
I set the pliers down on the chair with a heavy thunk, and he jerks, rattling the chains he’s hanging from. His toes scramble against the concrete floor again.
“Now, now. Those toes are going to be plenty abused by the time I’m done with them. No need to rush things.” I reach for the hunting knife in my belt, drawing it slowly out of the oiled leather sheath, and I see his eyes flick down, widening until it looks like they might pop out of his skull.
“Please—” he moans. “Please, please?—”
I chuckle, running one fingertip over the serrated edge of the blade. “It’s funny, you know,” I murmur, raising the knife to rest the tip of it at the hollow of his throat. “There’s really only two situations in life where I hear someone beg like that. One is a situation like this. Man trussed up in front of me, about to be asked all kinds of questions.” I drag the knife down, catching the blade in the front of his sweat-soaked t-shirt, as I begin to cut it free. “The other is a pretty woman in my bed, all wet and waiting for me to give her all the things she’s pleading for. Funny thing, too, is–”
I jerk the knife down sharply, ripping the front of his shirt open to reveal a skinny, pale white, chest. He’s hairless as a fish’s belly, right down to the single stripe of dark hair that runs into his filthy pants. “Both times, more often than not, involve chains.”
A grin spreads across my face as I dig the point of the knife into the man’s belly, just above his navel. “Now, we’re going to have a little talk. You’re not gonna like a lot of what I do to you, but there will be less of it, the faster you answer my questions. But I want you to think about something else, too.”
“What—what’s that?” the man pants, looking down at the knife. That acrid scent of piss fills the air again, and I hear a drip on the concrete, between where he’s hanging and I’m standing. I wrinkle my nose.
“Well, for one thing—and this wasn’t what I was about to say—but you might wanna consider not pissing yourself for the rest of this interview. I don’t like the smell, and I might just think about taking something off before it’s time. If you know what I mean.” I raise an eyebrow, and the man jerks backwards, flailing in the chains. It makes him buck forward into my knife without meaning to, and the point digs into his fishbelly skin, sending a thick rivulet of blood dripping down his stomach.
He cries out, whimpering, and I laugh coldly.
