Page 175 of Romancing in Rot

The man’s swollen eyes jerk between us. “No. No, they’ll kill me.”

I grab the front of his jacket and haul him up so fast his boots scrape against the ground. He lands hard on his feet, knees shaking.

Lyla pulls out her knife and holds it against his throat. “Entrance. Now, or I’m going to introduce you to my friend Sweetness.”

She digs the blade in just enough to draw blood.

His lips tremble. Blood runs over his chin and drips onto his shirt. “They’ll know. If I take you in, they’ll know.”

“Where?” Lyla asks.

The man shakes his head. “No. No way. They’ll gut me if I talk.”

I look over my shoulder.

Joanie is watching with her knife in one hand and the kind of eager focus that should probably concern a licensed professional. Good thing none of us are licensed professionals anymore.

I crook two fingers at her.

Her face lights up. “Really?”

Trish groans. “Sweet Moses.”

I ignore Trish and grab the man’s wrist, holding his hand out toward Joanie.

He starts to struggle. “No. No, no, no. What the fuck is this?”

Joanie looks at me, then at his hand, then back at me. “Which one?”

I consider.

The man goes pale.

I tap his ring finger.

Joanie nods like I just handed her a sacred responsibility. “Excellent choice. Emotionally symbolic.”

The man thrashes harder. I slam him back against the brick and pin him there with my forearm across his chest. His pulse jumps wild beneath my arm. He smells like fear now, sharp under the smoke and old blood.

I lean in close enough for him to see exactly what is left of me. Nothing soft. Nothing patient. Nothing he can bargain with.

Joanie takes his ring finger with both hands.

“Last chance,” she says sweetly. “I’m still learning, so this may not be clean.”

The man’s breathing turns ragged. “Please.” His eyes flick to Joanie’s hands, then to my face.

He makes the smart choice one second too late.

“Old delivery bay,” he rushes out. “Behind the movie theater. There’s a maintenance tunnel under the east stairs. It comes up near the arcade storage room.”

Joanie snaps his finger anyway.

The sound is quick and sharp. The finger bends sideways, crooked against the others, and the skin at the knuckle splits in a thin red line.

The man howls, trying to yank his hand back, but I keep him pinned against the wall.

Joanie releases him and studies his crooked finger with interest. “Cool.”