Page 52 of Controlled

“Why, certainly. So, you were hired to portray an Arab prince. Yes?”

He swallowed hard, the same look of terror remaining.

“It’s a simple question, Santos. I don’t think you want to make me angry at this point.”

“No,” Kane added. “I assure you that you don’t want to do that. He gets cranky when he doesn’t get answers.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. “So. Where were we? Oh, yes. I was asking about whether you were employed for subterfuge.” Why was it that when I used those kinds of words, it seemed to confuse people?

He hesitated, swallowing again. “Yes. I’m an actor. I was just playing a role.”

“At my expense.” I was feeling a bit dramatic at the moment, even pressing the tip of my finger against my chest for emphasis. I pushed up one sleeve of my jacket and then the other, grateful I’d worn a polo underneath today.

“You were hired to play a part, pretending that you and your buddies were interested in purchasing a stolen pallet of weapons. Yes?”

He was shaking like a leaf, unblinking as he stared at me. “Yes. Yes.”

“Okay. Now, we’re getting somewhere. Were you told who owned the weapons?”

“Not at first.”

Which meant there’d been more than one meeting. It was amazing what a little threat could do for the memory. “Okay. When did you learn?”

“A day ago.”

“Ah. You spoke with someone.”

“Yes, sir,” Santos said.

“Where did you meet?”

“A park.”

“A park. Interesting. And who did you meet with?”

He suddenly clammed up, which I’d anticipated. Any bad guy with salt warned the flunkies they hired to keep their mouths shut. However, this wasn’t some hard-edged soldier determined to live and die by the sword. This was a twenty-something-year-old actor who’d gotten in the middle of a bad deal. However, it was obvious he needed another incentive.

I made a sound like a buzzer, grabbing the kid around the back of the neck and dunking his head in between his legs into the water. If I’d wanted to do anything but scare the piss out of him, I would have bashed his head against the cheap fiberglass tub. But I used control, refraining from allowing my true personality to break through to the open air.

For now.

He struggled, as I lifted his head, still holding him for a few seconds as he gasped.

There were times when my father’s old ways were more appealing and this was one of them. I’d been convinced that moving into the modern century was in the best interest of our company, but right now, all I could think about was engaging in a hunt. But it would be a waste of time and effort with this guy.

“I don’t know who he was. I swear to God. He wore a mask of some kind. He wouldn’t let me see his face. It was dark, only a single light on in the park. How could I see anything?”

For some reason I believed him. “Alright. Did he have any distinguishable features?”

“I don’t know,” he choked. I tossed him a hand towel, allowing him to get control of himself as he wiped his face. “He sounded like fucking Rocky. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” That’s exactly what Antonio Salvatore sounded like, whether by choice or by heritage. “Did he ask for anything else?”

Santos seemed confused again. “He just said I’d need to repeat my stellar performance, but he got a phone call and didn’t give me any details.”

“Did you overhear anything he said?”

“No. I swear to fucking God, no. He walked away quickly and I got the fuck out of there. I knew I was being watched.”

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