Page 57 of Sinful

“Who did you touch?”

“I-I—”

I pulled my knife out and twirled it between my fingers. A newer knife. I’d left my old one with Sin, but it made no matter. I’d killed with it before.

Jack cried out, snot dripping from his nose.

“Consider your next words carefully,” I said softly. “And make sure they’re truthful. I do not like liars.”

“I-I’ve watched you grow up, Dante. With your mother. Calista—”

I let my fist fly. It connected with a crack against Jack’s face, busting his nose and lip, the blood flowing freely.

“Never say her name,” I hissed at him.

“I-I’m sorry. P-please,” he blubbered.

“Who did you touch?”

“I-I, her name was Misty. I didn’t have the cash, but I can get it now—”

“Put your hands on the table,” I instructed.

“No,” he wailed, shaking, the smell of his piss wafting off him.

“Jack, don’t make this harder than it already is. Hands on the table. Now.”

With a soft sob, he put his hands on the table, each digit trembling with his fear.

I didn’t hesitate. I brought my knife down hard and fast and removed several fingers while he screamed, his blood gushing out. The men held him in place.

I took my time carving off the last digit. A pinky.

He vomited into the bloody mess before he passed out.

The men woke him for me, but he was barely conscious from the abrupt blood loss.

I was growing bored. Plus, he was filth, so I slit his throat in a lightning-fast movement. He slumped over in the mess we’d made together, his body limp.

“Not as clean as I prefer,” Father’s voice met my ears.

“Not as exciting as I prefer,” I answered back. I turned to leave, but my father’s voice had me stopping, my back to him.

“I have more work for you. Meet me in my office.”

I cast a look over my shoulder at him before leaving the room.

Fucking figured it couldn’t be a one-and-done thing.

* * *

I settledin the leather chair across from my father’s desk, watching as he poured us both a drink. He slid it over to me and settled in his seat.

I took the drink and sipped it, grateful he at least had a better taste in drink than he did in food.

“You always perform,” he commented before taking a drink. “I can always depend on you.”

“It is my job to serve,” I muttered, slamming back my drink and sliding my glass back across the table. “Especially when you’re using my girl and my friends against me. It helps we cut a deal.”

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