Page 78 of Black Heart

Old habits die hard. I could have easily snapped his neck, but I’m trying to avoid unnecessary kills tonight. The urge to end him still lingers though, like a dark whisper in the back of my mind. It would be so easy, so satisfying to feel that familiar crunch of bone and cartilage...

I shake my head.Focus. I’m here for Layla.

I continue my silent prowl through the building, senses heightened for any signs of trouble. The sound of my heartbeat echoes in my ears, a metronome of calm. The server room should be just ahead, down a flight of stairs and through a reinforced door. That’s where Layla will likely be, trying to sabotage Dawson’s grand unveiling.

And when I get my hands on her…

“Nah, boss, she wasn’t the one.”

The voice stops me short, and I dart into a cubicle room, the lights off, and press against the wall near a window overlooking the hallway.

I peer through the slats of the blinds, making out a figure striding down the hallway with his phone to his ear. His shirt is untucked and hair mussed, like he’s had one too many to drink, but his gait is too steady, his eyes too focused as he talks.

“I’m tellin’ ya, it wasn’t the girl,” the fake drunk insists, his words crisp and clear. “I got a long look at her when I grabbedher. Both her eyes were brown, and the boss said the Verona girl’s got one blue eye and one brown, like a circus freak or somethin’.”

I should rip his stomach open and tie his intestines around his flaccid dick. Layla is worth a thousand of him.

I’m about to do just that, and more, when I hear the fake drunk chuckle and say, “Nah, I played it up real good. Stumbled around, got a little handsy. She bought the drunk act hook, line, and sinker, but the broad is just one of the whores who got lost on her way to the VIP room, as a gift to Morelli. Those chicks are hot but ain’t too bright. Yeah, I’m headed there now. Later.”

Crimson bleeds into the edges of my vision and a roar fills my ears. Rage courses through my veins, heating my blood to a volcanic level.

Morelli.

I’ve been chasing the Ghost Leader for years, coming close, but never close enough. And now, one of his lackeys is right here within my grasp.

I move without thinking.

In one fluid motion, I’m behind the fake drunk, one hand covering his mouth, the other pressing a blade to his throat. He starts to struggle, but I dig the knife in deeper, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Quiet,” I hiss in his ear, my voice a guttural rasp through the mask. “Or I’ll paint the walls using your intestines as my paintbrush.”

The man stiffens, phone clattering to the floor.

With a flick of my wrist, I have him flying face-first into the wall with a satisfying crunch. He yelps in pain and surprise, but I’m already wrenching his arm behind his back, twisting until I feel the pop of dislocation.

“Where’s Morelli?” I snarl through the mask’s voice modulator.

The man whimpers, tears and snot mixing with the blood dripping from his broken nose. “I don’t know, I swear! I’m just a grunt. Morelli don’t tell me nothin’!”

I slam his face into the wall again, relishing the wet fracturing of cartilage. “Wrong answer.”

Keeping his dislocated arm wrenched behind him, I drag the man into the empty office and throw him to the floor. He scrambles back against a cubicle wall. The green slits of my mask’s eyes track him in the dark.

“Last chance,” I growl, flicking out another knife. The blade gleams hungrily. “Where is Morelli hiding?”

“I’m just the muscle! I follow orders, and I was told to come to this floor to check out a girl coming through the service entrance who matched the description of the one he’s looking for. That’s all. I don’t know where he’s at right now.”

I hunch down in front of him, and with methodical precision, I dislocate each of his fingers one by one, the snap-crackle-pop a morbid rhythm. His cries escalate into shrill, agonized shrieks that reverberate off the walls. It’s a miracle no one comes running.

Probably because he’s not worth it.

“The VIP room!” he gasps out between sobs, snot and blood dribbling down his chin. “Top floor, northwest corner. But you’ll never get in. It’s guarded to shit for the auction.”

“Auction?”

“Yeah, the black market tech being auctioned off. A bunch of the crime families are here. Morelli’s got some sort of bid war going on for—fuck, I don’t know the exact stuff. I’m no techie.”

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yank his head back, exposinghis neck. I lean in close, so he can feel my breath through the mask. “And the girl? Where was she headed?”

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