Page 8 of When She Loves
The old white clock on the wall ticks past six thirty. I need at least a few minutes to get myself cleaned up before I head down for the rehearsal dinner.
“Pffease,” Joshua bleats through a mouth full of broken teeth. “Pffea—”
I punch him again. A few drops of blood land high on my forearm.
Fuck. I’d hoped this wouldn’t turn into such a fucking mess.
“The next time you say a word, make it one I want to hear.”
Behind me, Nero lets out a loud sigh. “Maybe he really doesn’t know anything. He’s a vain bastard. I don’t think he’d let you pummel him like this if he did.”
Joshua’s chin bumps against his chest. Did the fucker just pass out?
I kick him hard in the shin. Nothing.
Annoyance crawls up my spine. Joshua’s father, Conor Paddington, owns one of the biggest cement-pouring businesses in New York, and he’s been paying his twenty percent dutifully for over a decade. Then last week, he disappeared. Joshua took over in his stead, but the guy’s a certified idiot. He’s already fired their VP of operations, and it won’t be long until he runs the business into the ground.
If Conor is alive, we’re going to get him back, and my hunch is that the only person who knows where he is, is the son of a bitch before me.
“Get me the adrenaline.”
There’s a rustling sound behind me. A moment later, a syringe is placed in my open hand. I take off the cap and jab it into Joshua’s thigh.
The man intakes a sharp breath, his eyes springing wide.
I’ve really got to wrap this up. I pick up a serrated knife off the tray, grab Joshua’s hand, and start sawing off his pinky finger.
His screams fill the air.
I raise my voice so that he can hear me. “I hope you have an assistant to help you answer emails. You won’t be typing any time soon. Or ever, if you don’t start talking, right. Fucking.Now.”
When I reach bone, Joshua breaks.
“He’s at the house in Poughkeepsie! Jesus, fuck!”
I stop moving the knife. That’s an hour and a half from here. “What did you do to him?”
“He’s alive. Or at least he was when I checked on him a few days ago.”
I glance at Nero. My consigliere raises his hands in acquiescence. He’d thought Conor ran, but I told him there’s no way. Paddington’s not the kind of man to run away from his own problems. It’s why I’ve always liked him. He pays his protection money on time and in full. And we’re not the type of outfit that takes cash and doesn’t deliver on our end. That’s the kind of shit Stefano Garzolo used to pull, and look where he is now.
“Send a few guys to check it out, and tell them to take Doc with them. Conor might need medical treatment on the spot.”
Nero nods and leaves the interrogation room to make the call. I grab a towel and do my best to wipe my hands clean of Joshua’s blood so that I don’t leave bloody fingerprints all over the house once I head upstairs.
We have guests coming. My whole family is probably arriving upstairs right now, and while showing up with blood on my hands would certainly send a message to those who’ve questioned my judgment in the last few days, tonight is not the place or time.
Everyone is eager to get a glimpse of the woman I’m supposed to marry.
Especially since until two nights ago, they thought I’d be marrying her sister.
“Messero.” Joshua’s voice is no more than a low rasp. “Not everyone is as lucky as you. Your father croaked all on his own. Some of us have to take our fate into our own hands if we ever want to get to the top.”
I crack my neck. My father would have preferred it if I’d been the one who ended him. He loathed dying slowly, rotting like a vegetable in his bed while his kingdom slowly slipped through his fingers. In his last few days, he begged me to do it. To end his pain.
I smiled at him and repeated a line I’d heard him say very often.We can’t rely on anyone to save us but ourselves.
“You got impatient.” I throw the towel to the ground. “The plan you concocted was sloppy.”
