Page 54 of Manacled Hearts

“Give. Me. A. Name!” I scream right in his face, and his ass hits the chair with a thud.

“I don’t know it!” he cries.

He actually fucking cries, and I exchange looks with Carter and Vincent. Carter looks bored and Vincent shrugs.

“He told us to call him Vassallo, but only some of us know it’s not his real name. None of us know what it is though. The only one who might, is Frankie B,” he says.

Frankie B. What a stupid fucking name.

But we already know these names, we need the real fucking ones. However, it is interesting to find out that not only do people in their organization not know Vassallo’s real name, but most don’t even know it isn’t. So, we’ll need to go straight to the top.

“What is the guy for the organization?” I ask.

“He comes across like an idiot, but he’s Vassallo’s right-hand man. Young, half his age maybe. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but even that blunt edge could do some damage.”

I know for a fact it does. Evelyn’s memory from that night is patchy, she has more gaps than information. When Maddox found her, he said she was out of her fucking mind, in a trance from how heavily she was drugged. She refused to tell us if she remembers what happened to her after she was separated from her sister. I noticed a few winces, some straining when she moved or sat down, so I know the motherfucker hurt her, she doesn’t need to spell it out for me. I’ll crucify Frankie either way, slice him from throat to dick, and deliver his guts to her.

I owe her that much.

Goddammit… why is this just dawning on me? Was she seeking drugs that night because she’s starting to remember more?

I take one deep breath, looking at the man panicking before me, and wonder if there’s any more I can get out of him.

“Where is their headquarters?” I ask.

“Not with the rest of us. There are multiple centers of operations. He visits, but he has his Sergeants who handle each one. Vassallo prefers to meet in random locations for briefings, missions, and others. He only comes when an important shipment arrives. I don’t know where the other centers are, he keeps his operation fragmented so if something happens, we don’t all go down. My center is in Eastling, North of the city in an old asylum. It’s big, but I don’t even know if it’s the biggest one. Now, is my mother going to be okay?”

The man spilled the information like it was nothing, all loyalties and fears gone when it came to his dear mother.

“Vassallo only comes when big shipments arrive?” I ask.

“He used to, but rumor has it one of them got raided a month or so ago by someone, and if they would have come half an hour earlier or something, they would have found him there. He hasn’t intercepted shipments since,” he answers.

“The only chance is to catch him if he meets with his Sergeants or visits a center?” Vincent asks.

“Most likely. What about my mother?!” he asks impatiently.

“Give me the name of the Sergeants.” I ignore his plea.

“Is my mother safe?” he rages, fear reddening his eyes.

“The names, motherfucker!” I slam my knife right under his balls, scratching his suite trousers, his mouth gaping as he attempts to move backward in the chair. Carter is truly bored now, and he already walks toward the exit. Vincent moves away, ready to follow.

“We don’t have knowledge of the others.” He shakes as I push the blade up just enough to make him sweat, and breathes out loudly when I decide to retreat and pack it in my rib holster. “Mine, the one who’s supposed to come here today to make sure this warehouse is ready for the next shipment, is called Leopold Gr—”

The word sticks in his throat as his head whips backward with a bullet lodged in the middle of his forehead. I jump to the left, ducking and rolling onto the dirty, concrete floor, just as gunfire and grunts erupt all at once.

We weren’t stupid enough to come here alone. A whole team is outside, and from the sounds of it, they’re all fighting. I catch a faint flashing light at the other end of the warehouse, between some old, rusty equipment forgotten here, and I draw my gun as I duck behind a concrete column. I’m strung out so goddamn tight, a buzzing grows in my ears, and my hands twitch to squeeze the trigger and release this pressure.

A moment later a bullet lodges itself at the edge of the pillar, and I lower myself, taking aim toward its source. Three more shots, a loud thud, and the gunshots aimed at me stop.

“I think it was a stray. Clear!” I hear Vin somewhere behind me.

He was caught close to the exit, but ducked behind some rusty machinery. That was quick. Yet, the pressure in my head hasn’t eased, and the buzzing is still there.

Slowly, the commotion dies down outside, and we move toward the exit. The door creaks open, and both Vin and I take aim. Carter steps through, a thick streak of blood running from the base of his throat, down to his crotch, stray splatters everywhere.

“Yours?” I ask quickly.

---