Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Why?” The question popped out before I could censor it, but I refused to apologize. I wanted to know everything Antonio did. I had a right to because of the blood I’d paid.
Antonio didn’t bother to answer. Behind us, Kass’s voice came low and toneless. “He doesn’t want you to see what happens to men who cross him.” Kass kept his gaze on the man in the chair.
I ignored the warning. “He tried to kill me,” I said. “I don’t care what you do to him, but I want to hear what he says.”
Antonio didn’t move for a second. Then he made a small gesture at Kass, who opened the door to the cell. He and Antonio went inside, leaving me firmly on the wrong side of the door.
The man in the chair was in his late thirties, short hair shaved to stubble, athletic build gone to flab. His face was a mess -- both eyes purpled and swollen, nose broken or near enough, his lip split and bleeding. He wore tactical pants and a gray shirt, a logo on the pocket I couldn’t place. He looked up when Antonio entered, but there was nothing in his face except exhaustion and burning hatred.
Antonio took his time. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, sat on the edge of the table, and looked the man over. Kass watched, motionless. I realized the small speaker beside the window allowed the viewer to hear the conversation on the other side of the window.
“What’s your name?” Antonio asked, his voice slightly tinny coming through the speaker.
The man didn’t answer.
Antonio nodded at Kass. Kass reached into a crate in the corner of the room and withdrew a steel mallet. He set it on the table without a word.
The man in the chair stared at the mallet for a long moment. His mouth worked as he shook his head. “Quinn,” he said finally.
“Quinn what?”
“Jernigan.”
“Who sent you?”
“Job came in from Nashville. We get them occasionally and never communicate with the contact. Whoever it is contacts us.” Quinn still gave Antonio a look of hatred. I had no doubt Antonio could be in real trouble if he slipped the zip ties. The thought made my stomach knot, and I didn’t like the sensation one fucking bit.
“Who’s your handler?”
The man hesitated. “Goes by Pine.”
Antonio repeated it back. “Pine.” He looked at Kass, then at me through the glass. “Knight?”
“Already running the alias,” Kass answered.
Antonio leaned in. “What was your primary objective?”
Quinn blinked, slow. His tongue came out, and he licked a drop of blood from his lip. “Depended on who we found.”
“Be more specific.”
He didn’t answer.
Antonio nodded again. Kass moved behind the man and in one swift motion wrenched his left shoulder back, hard. The sound was sickening. Quinn grunted but didn’t scream. He breathed through his nose for a full five seconds, then said, “You want the objective? Fine. Grab the Garrison bitch. Kill anyone who gets in the way.”
There was a pause.
I didn’t move or react. Antonio’s posture didn’t change. “Who else?”
“We were told we’d get extra if we hurt someone in Kiss of Death and made it stick.”
“Who planned the breach?”
Quinn snorted. “Nobody plans shit, man. We get told where and when. We get a big payout if shit goes right. We get dead if it goes wrong.”
Antonio reached into his jacket and pulled a phone. He slid it across the table. “Code.”
Quinn hesitated. Kass wrenched the shoulder again, and this time Quinn screamed. He coughed and spat, then rattled off a six-digit code.
Antonio pressed in the code. I watched over his shoulder through the glass as he opened the messages and scrolled, then handed it to Kass. “Get this to Knight. Have him see what he can find and touch base with me afterward.” Kass left through a separate door in the corner I’d been unable to see easily. He did so without a word.
Antonio waited another few seconds, letting the silence fill the space. I watched as the two men stared at each other. Rather, Quinn tried to stare. His eyes were so swollen I didn’t think he could see much.
Quinn’s mouth worked again. “Look. We don’t know names. We only get calls. There’s a guy -- he drops cash, he picks up gear. Uses a white van. Always parks behind the Food Barn on Greer. That’s all I know.”
Antonio looked at him. “That’s not all you know.”
Quinn shook his head. His voice was almost a whimper now. “Look, man, I’ve got kids. I just needed the money. They said it was some rich girl who got herself in trouble, and nobody would miss her --”
Antonio pulled out a gun and shot him, a single round to the forehead. I jumped at the noise but managed not to cry out myself. The body slumped back in the chair, blood, brain, and bone splattered against the wall behind Quinn, and the room fell silent.