Page 3 of Lethal Saint

I finished my incision and grinned, lifting the flap of skin off Castro’s arm and holding it up so the fucker could see. His eyes were swollen but the right one was still able to open. I prised his puffy eyelids apart so he could see the work I’d made of his arm. “I’ll make you a deal, Seb. How about you tell me why you’re fixated on our club, and I won’t dothis—”I waved the skin in front of his face. “To your dick. Deal?”

He began shaking his head over and over, his body trembling, bucking, like he could escape the chains around his wrists. Or maybe he thought he’d unhook them from the ceiling; he wouldn’t be the first to try. I’d made sure it was impossible, of course; left my brother Stefan hung up overnight when he stole—and crashed—my Bugatti Divo. It had been damn near impossible to get that beauty, and my asshole little brother crashed it.

“Is that yes or no?” I asked Castro, ignoring the hovering presence of my least favourite uncle. My other uncle was a recluse with a dozen mental disorders and no boundaries for violence whatsoever, and I preferredhim.

“Fine,” I sighed when Castro only wept and tried to free himself. He’d need some alone time to break down, and then he might be ready to talk.

“Which club?” Gentian asked when I crossed the room to the chrome sink against the wall, scrubbing my hands and arms, using a stiff bristled brush to clean under my nails.

“George Street,” I replied, aware of his every step as he approached. He leaned against the wall beside me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was a handsome bastard even at fifty-six, enough that he had a never-ending stream of women around him. I didn’t see the point of being prolific in bed; what value did a one-night stand have when you could go out and find the same thing again hours later? It was worthless.

“Huh.” Gentian slid a canny look at me and I sighed, bracing for the subject shift.Here we go.“Come out with me, Damien. You never let loose, and it’s not good for you to be so tightly buttoned up.”

I gave the Gent a narrow-eyed look and said nothing, drying my hands before dropping the towel in the chute on the wall. It fed straight into an incinerator, and it was my pride and joy. Well, that and the Bugatti Divo.

“When was the last time you went out?” Gentian pressed, effable and annoying. “When was the last time you got laid?”

That wasn’t his business. I began cleaning my tools.

“Come on, Damien. This isn’t just a club, it’s a once in a lifetime event.”

“No.”

“What else are you going to do while you wait for Castro over there to come to his senses?”

“Sleep,” I said flatly. God knew I needed it. Hunting Seb Castro had taken the better part of two days, and I’d spent most of today working him over, coaxing out what little information I could.

It seemed Seb was loyal to his family and didn’t want to spill their plans. Yet. He would—they always did. He obviously wouldn’t be swayed by anything I did to his body, but that wasfine. Leave him alone and his mind would start destroying him. A day or so and he’d do anything I told him.

Assuming he wasn’t a seriously hardened bastard trained to withstand torture. Even the darkest criminals still pissed themselves, so that was no indicator.

“Why sleep when you can sleepwithsomeone?” Gentian cajoled, nudging me with his elbow. “You can’t tell me you’re not thinking about it. A warm body under yours, a soft, wet hole to sink into—”

“Unlike you, Uncle, I prefer not to reduce women to holes. So thanks but no thanks. I’m going to bed.”

“The girl’s a virgin,” he said, as if that would sweeten the deal.

“Then she has no business being anywhere near you,” I replied dryly, hanging up my tools to dry and rolling down my sleeves. My clothes would need incineration too, but I wasn’t changing with the Gent circling like a vulture.

“I’ll give you the case file on Samuel Henrik,” he said, like the smoking fucking bullet he knew it was.

I paused, halfway towards my jacket where it hung on a peg by the door. Rage burned in my chest, made my nostrils flare. “You’re a bastard, you know that, Gent?”

I’d been asking for that file formonths,since I found my maid on death’s door and had to rush her to hospital. I’d vaguely known she’d been abused, but I didn’t realise the extent of it until she pulled through and confessed it all. Rose was still my maid, but now my closest friend along with a grumpy bastard we called the Knight. I wanted to know exactly who had been involved in her abuse—and if Henrik was really dead—and both answers were in that file.

Rose was as much my family as Gentian. She deserved the heads of everyone in that network cleaved from their heads, and because I was a good friend, I’d get that for her.

Gentian brightened, his black eyes—the same colour as mine—gleaming. “So that’s a yes? You’ll come?”

“Yes,” I ground out. “But I want the file now, and I’m bringing Jonathan.”

Gentian groaned, but his excitement didn’t dim. Sick fucker was this excited to watch a virgin sex show? “Fine, fine, I can get another plus one. But I’m not giving you the file until after tonight.”

Like I said, bastard.

“Which club is it at anyway?” I asked, grabbing my jacket and pulling it on, brushing out the creases.

“It’s not at a club.” The Gent grabbed my arm, his glee palpable. He released me when I glowered, but his oily smile didn’t fade. “It’s at Boris Ivanov’s place.”

---