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“You’re going to tell me everything,” I command, looking down at him. “Who sent you after my warehouse. Who you work for. And if you lie to me, I’ll make sure your death takes a very long time.”
I let the silence stretch for a beat.
“You attacked my warehouse two days ago, I know you didn’t act on your own. Looking around this shithole, there’s no way you could afford the weapons you used. So… who sent you?”
The man spits on the floor near my shoe. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I sigh, almost bored, and slam the butt of my gun into the side of his head. He crumples instantly, unconscious.
“Tie him up and put him in the car,” I order my men.
Viktor wipes blood off his hands and looks at the remaining kneeling men. “And the rest?”
“Kill them.”
One of my soldiers hesitates. “What about the women?”
“Get their identities. Make it very clear what will happen to them and everyone they love if they breathe a single word about what happened here tonight.”
After hours of torture, the leader of the MC still hasn’t broken.
He keeps repeating the same story through bloodied lips and broken teeth: they were contracted through anonymous channels, paid in cash at a dead drop, no names, no faces. We’re at a dead end.
I drag a hand through my hair in frustration, the movement pulling at the cut on my forearm. Blood smears across my skin.
Viktor notices immediately. “Should I call the doc for that?” he asks, nodding at the wound.
I glance down. A bullet had grazed me earlier during the raid. The adrenaline had kept the pain at bay until now. It’s bleeding, but it’s nothing serious.
“I’ll stop by the doc’s on my way home,” I mutter.
Viktor nods. “The body?”
“Dispose of it. Make sure nothing leads back to us.”
He pauses, then asks, “So what now? We still wait for solid confirmation before we move on the Irish?”
I exhale slowly. “Keep working on tracking the stolen shipments. Double the security on the remaining warehouses. Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
With that, I turn and walk out of the warehouse. Viktor has a point. Every finger points straight at Cillian O’Brien and his crew. But I’ve never been the type to attack blindly. Assumptions get you killed in this world. I need hard proof before I start a war.
By the time I pull into the driveway of the mansion, the cut on my arm has been stitched, but I’m still coated in blood, some of it mine, most of it belonging to the men we killed.
I step inside the foyer and freeze when I hear a sharp gasp from above.
Rosie is standing at the top of the grand staircase, one hand gripping the railing, eyes wide with fear as she takes in the sight of me.
Fuck.
I forgot. I no longer live alone. I have a woman and a child under my roof now. I should have cleaned up, changed clothes.
Rosie’s face is pale, her knuckles white against the banister. She looks terrified. For the first time in a long time, I feel something uncomfortably close to regret.
Chapter Fourteen
Rosie
A gasp escapes me the moment I see him.
