Page 27 of SINS & Lies

“As a matter of fact, yes. My fist has a date with a man’s skull.”

Dillon can’t resist piling on. “All torture and no sex makes Enzo a dull boy,” he tsks.

But it’s Mateo who hits me like a Mack truck with his words, stopping me in my tracks. “If she means something to you—anything at all—we’ve got your back, bro.”

He cares.

They all care, and it’s suffocating.

The thought of losing them—any of them—because I fucked up and had to have my cake and eat it, too, is too much.

I blow out a breath and say two words, hoping to convince them as much as myself. “She doesn’t.”

CHAPTER 9

Enzo

Silently, I read from the file. Then, I run through the usual questions. I ask his name or if he has a nickname he prefers I address him by.

Like a moron, he struggles with the zip ties binding his wrists in place. My men have him seated on a chair, wrists cinched to the armrest, with a black sack over his head.

I shake the small pill canister near his ear. He jolts and nearly pisses himself. “Who are you? What do you want?” his voice trembles.

“What do I want?” My words are controlled. “I want...everything.”

With a nod of my head, one of the guards grabs his finger, ripping it back until the telltale crack hits the air.

An agonized cry rips from his chest. “Stop. Please. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Body writhing in desperation and fear, he’s overcome with sobs.

I smack him. “Where’s your dignity? For a man capable of such violence...such hate...the least you can do is take a little bone break like a man.” I lean close to his ear, the smell of formaldehyde and cheap cologne ripe with his sweat. “We still have so many fingers to go.”

“No!” he begs at the top of his lungs. “You have the wrong man.”

I flip a page, the rustle of the paper loud. He shakes. I smile. “Oh, we have the right man. The pills were your weak point. But that was all greed, wasn’t it?” I hold one close to his lips. “Would you like one now?”

The shake of his head is adamant, and his lips form a hard, tight line.

I toss them at his feet. “What’s wrong? These magic pills cure every pain imaginable. At first. And what happens the next day? When you don’t take them?” His silence crawls along my skin, until I’m agitated enough to backhand him. “Answer me!”

“It g-gets w-worse,” he stammers out.

“It gets worse,” I repeat as my mouth curls up one side. Getting information will be easier now. Like pressing a button and getting water from a fountain. I breathe deeply, satisfied for the moment, and move on. “Now, let’s talk about”—I check the file for the name again—“Anya.” The best friend of Smoke’s bride.

He screams uncontrollably. “Help! Somebody...anybody! Help!”

I give him a minute to realize his screams are pointless—wasted energy. Then I continue, torturing him for the next hour before I rip off the bag covering his head.

His eyes are swollen, but not shut. And his face is a mass of blood and bruises. But I want to see his eyes when I say this. Especially considering that by tonight, he’ll never see through those eyes again.

“Look at me!” I snap.

Trembling, he lifts his head until our eyes lock. It’s clear he knows now I’m not Smoke. I sport a deadly grin. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Enzo. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

It’s there in an instant. That flash of fear. The tremors. Once again, my reputation precedes me. Satisfaction heats my blood in a way very few things do.

For a fraction of a second, Bella’s doe eyes and soft skin flash through my thoughts. I shove her into a closet in the farthest corner of my mind. She can’t be here now.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Please!”

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