Page 60 of Cain

“It wasn’t what it looked like man.”

Scotch snorts from behind me.

“Really? Because what it looked like to me was that you were trying to steal what is Evan’s. Then, when she didn’t roll over and give you what you wanted, you were going to force her,” I grit out. I don’t think I’ve ever clenched my jaw so hard in my life.

The fact that this piece of shit is trying to tell me it wasn’t what it looked like is only pissing me off more. Does he think we’re fucking stupid? My philosophy is that if you’re going to do something and get caught, you own up to it like a fucking man.

“I’m sick of that bitch making all the money. I’ve been doing the dealing for years! Fucking years! And you know how much she gives me? 10 percent. 10 fucking percent. Fucking bitch,” Storm spits out, shaking his head as he rants.

Cyrus moves up behind me next to Scotch, ready to be of assistance for the way he’s talking about Evan, but I hold up my hand to stop him. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this line of work, it’s that guys like this who are desperate to be on top will spill their guts out when they’re upset. They feel entitled to everything they come across, so money and power-hungry. Their emotions from that entitlement shine bright on their sleeve, all too eager to claim what they think is owed to them. And let’s be honest, that will get you dead real quick in this game.

“Other than distribute to the low-life people you associate with, what exactly did you do that you feel so strongly that you’re entitled to more?”

“I don’t feel! I know I fucking deserve that. It’s mine. This business is no place for a woman anyway. Doesn’t she realize anyone can grow a fucking plant?”

I share a look with Cyrus, who is now by my side. I called that bullshit. That’s another thing you need in this life that Storm obviously fucking hasn’t yet. You need to be able to read people. Without it, you better watch your fucking back.

I crouch down so I’m at eye level with Storm in the chair. Direct eye contact makes them squirm, just like he is right now. “Did you break into Evan’s house and issue that warning?”

“No.” He answers way too quickly, not meeting my eyes. “No man. It wasn’t me. I know nothing about that.”

I wave Cyrus over as I stand up and step back, tilting my head toward Storm. The poor bastard didn’t even have time to register what was happening before Cyrus had one of his fingers bent all the way back until that soothing crunch hit my ears.

“Fuck!” Storm screamed, trying to pull away, which is impossible when you’re still tied to a chair.

“Do you want to change your answer?”

“No. It wasn—” His answer was cut off by another scream caused by Scotch, who quickly stepped forward and snapped another finger back.

Cyrus goes in for one more, but Storm has him pausing. “Okay! Okay! It was me, alright? It was me,” he rushes out before he pleads. “Just no more, please.”

Satisfied for now, Cyrus and Scotch step back so they’re standing next to me.

“Care to share why?” I cock my head at him.

“No,” Storm says lowly as he sags his head.

“No?” I echo. Well, that won’t do. I pick up the crowbar to my right and swing it at his knee. This time I didn’t get to hear that satisfying crunch I like because Storm was screaming like a bitch again. I’m really starting to hate this fucker. “If you’re going to have the balls to fuck with my girl, the least you can do is take your beating like a fucking man.”

I lift the crowbar into position like you do when you’re about to swing a baseball bat, ready to go after the other kneecap before he starts speaking, a mixture of tears and sweat pouring down his face. “I can’t tell you man! He’ll kill me!”

“And you think we won’t?” Cyrus laughs.

“You better start talking, or you’re going to leave here with all ten fingers broken and both kneecaps shattered,” I demand, pointing the crowbar at him.

“Okay, okay. Just no more. Please,” he begs. And to that, I just cock my eyebrow.

I’ve never been a patient man when it comes to stuff like this. I have a short fuse and even shorter triggers, and this piece of shit is really testing me.

“I was dealing the last of what Evan had given me. I always meet this dude once a month on the other side of Ravenna Heights at the abandoned warehouses,” he rushes out, breathing labored from the pain.

It makes sense he would meet out there, especially if he’s moving a few pounds. It’s secluded, and no one likes wandering eyes during a deal.

“He had just left, and I was about to pull out too before this black town car came speeding into the parking lot, stopping right in front of me so I couldn’t leave. I always back into a spot that butts up to the building.”

“Then what?” I demand, not liking where this is going.

“Two guys got out of the front and then two more from the back. All of them in fancy ass suits. The guys in the front and one of them from the back kind of flanked around the other last dude that got out of the back. Like they were his bodyguards or somethin’. I thought it was weird as fuck in this area, but who am I to judge? They looked fucking intimidating. I kind of liked it the more I stared at them.” And there’s that glint in this eye again. Jealousy. That look that screams he’s so desperate for some sort of power.

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