Page 5 of One Rule

Herbert’s attempt to double-cross me is his downfall. Greed got the best of him.

Dropping the glass, I push the chair I’d been sitting on back and move closer to our new guest, stopping once he’s kneeling at my feet. Herbert senses my presence and tries to shift away, but I grip his chin and turn his face toward his associate. “Do you know why he’s here, Alfred? Do you recognize him now?”

“No. I don’t know this man.” Low. Almost indiscernible.

“So be it.” It’s another lie, and I show him the consequence when I give Isaac a single nod after releasing my grip and stepping aside. A sharp kick to the ribs and Herbert bends completely over now, folding into himself as the force takes the wind out of him and pain radiates throughout his lean frame. The man is no more than five foot five and a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet—he’s not much of a physical threat.

Not because he can’t fight or his size hinders him, which doesn’t matter when trained, but because this man considers himself the brains of the operation. He plots and his past partners execute—get their hands dirty.

No fighting technique of any kind. No knowledge of weaponry.

And while Alfred was trapped inside my vault, I caught Herbert trying to steal one of my smaller Jet Skis hidden a few decks up and with access to the ocean via a private hydraulic lift that lowers to just the right depth to unload. With him, he’d taken two thumb drives and a ring box worth more than the life of every person within this vessel.

The ring was commissioned the day I turned twenty for my future bride. Have it with me everywhere I go.

“Name is Herbert Mullaney, age thirty, and a resident of Pembroke Pines. Mother and father are deceased, and you inherited a small chain of auto-body shops which you ran into the ground before the age of twenty-six.” One by one, I undo the buttons of my black dress shirt before removing it and tossing it aside along with the tank top underneath. Both are dirty and will be burned. “That is you, no?”

“Yes.” Garbled, he winces and whimpers while pressing a hand against the side Isaac struck. Tears gather and fall from those swollen-shut eyes while the act of unintentionally biting his lips causes another small rush of blood to drip down his chin.

Nodding, I crane my head from side to side. Shake my arms out. “And do you personally know the man who just spoke?”

“I-I do.” Pain is written across his features. Talking is torture.

“Tell me his name?”

“Alfred Castillo.”

His partner cries out anI don’t know himagain, but I hold up a single finger, cutting him off without looking away. My focus is on thebrainsof this idiocy.

“How long have you been working together?” At my question, Herbert mumbles something which earns him another kick, this one sending him face-first into the floor. “Answer me.”

“Fucking shit.” His head bounces off the harsh steel ground, creating another wound. This time, to his forehead. “Please stop.”

“Then speak clearly. How. Long?”

“A-A year. I-I lost my job with the city toward the tail end of the pandemic.”

“And how many people have you robbed, Herbert?” I hum, scratching at my short beard. “How valuable are you?”

“Successfully?” he asks, while this time Alfred makes a guttural sound of protest from the back of his throat. Same sentiment, to avoid the little snitch from speaking, and my eyes flick to him. I almost chuckle at the sight that greets me. The guard who’d been keeping time a few minutes prior is now standing behind Alfred while the latter is gagged by a piece of blood-soaked material. A piece ofhisshirt; that’s called initiative and I approve of the gesture, nodding at him before turning my head toward a crying Herbert.

“Finish.”

“Only one was successful.”

That I already knew, but the victim was well hidden. My hackers haven’t found the trace yet; I know everything but the name of who’s pulling the strings and their end game.

“Who did you rob?” He hesitates for a moment, and I narrow my eyes. Tilt my head to the side. “Five, four…three—”

“Celia Armas.”

Liliana’s mother. Mylittle rebel’s mother who’s currently traveling through Europe with a group of girlfriends celebrating the anniversary of the dissolution of their marriage. Armas Sr. is a difficult man to deal with—at times can be overbearing—but he doesn’t try to pull rank with me.

Never has been able to.

Not even when I was a teenager, and more importantly, he loves his daughter. Both his childrenandex-wife are his world even if the latter divorced him.Do they know about the break-in, though?

“So this is personal? You’re mad at Mayor Armas?”

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