Page 71 of Riordan's Revenge

Shade smiled. Palmed a blade. Untying Bronson’s right arm, he spread his fingers. “Furthermore, for the insult to my crew and the life lost, I’m taking your trigger finger as first payment. Any more will be cut as and when ye piss me off enough. If you’re alive that long.”

“Wait,” Bronson gasped and choked up pink spit. “I know what you want. Your man. I fucking knew Convict was a plant the minute Red brought him in. You can’t hide that shit from someone like me. I’ve been around the block. I’ll always guess your next move, and son, that was weak. Just as shite as Red’s judgement. He should’ve listened.”

Something flickered in Shade’s eyes.

He lifted his gaze to Cassie, and I followed suit. She thumped her chest. Shade nodded like her meaning was obvious. The answer filtered into my mind. They were hunting for Bronson’s weakness. She’d mimed bravado. No—pride. Bronson had an opinion on Convict that Red had ignored.

I barely knew anything about Convict, other than he’d been forced out of the skeleton crew the evening I came to rescue Everly from the nightclub. So he’d been a double agent.

“He’s dead,” Bronson finished. “There. We good? No more fake phone calls home. No more bullshit jobs. He’s a corpse.”

Shade recoiled in shock. With a curled lip, he sliced into Bronson’s index finger. Blood dripped. The man screamed. Shade wrenched his hand down to the chair’s armrest and finished the job of severing it.

He tossed the finger to the floor. “Ye killed him for no reason. We wouldn’t take him back.”

Bronson bucked against his ties. Blood flowed from the stump and dripped to the floor. Shade sighed then collected a med-kit, efficiently bandaging up the wound.

“Wouldn’t want ye dying on me. Not when there’s more I need.”

Bronson flushed red. “Why in God’s bitch name am I here then, Michaels? What information do you need? Need me to tell you about your mama’s loose cunt?”

Shade palmed a knife and took it to Bronson’s neck. He pierced his skin with the tip, blood oozing out in a trickle.

Bronson’s hands trembled again.

“You’re right that Red doesn’t care that you’re here. As far as he’s concerned, you’re an old man and no use to him. I heard he’s already put out a call for a new second-in-command. He’s replacing ye.”

Bronson’s composure broke. “That fucking piece of shit. He doesn’t have the stones to go it alone. I’m the brains behind the Four Milers and have been for twenty years. They’re mine.”

“Not anymore. Word on the street is he has a first choice. Someone who proved they’re as ruthless as he needs.”

Shade was winding in a fishing reel with Bronson locked on to the bait. He’d gone for the man’s pride. He’d hit the mark.

Lowering to capture Bronson’s furious gaze, Shade smiled coldly. “I don’t think ye know anything that will help me. I’m out of here. Enjoy the music while I’m interviewing the others.”

“Wait! Who else did you take? They won’t talk for shite. What the fuck is your game plan?”

“They already did. How do ye think I know about Red’s new boy? Whether ye make it out of here or not, your role just got downgraded to lackey.”

Shade tossed me the sack to put over his head again. Bronson’s protests muffled but didn’t stop. Not when we untiedhim and splayed his arms out wide. Only when he was inverted did the anger change to a moan.

The three of us left.

Anticipation curled up in me. What had we got? Shade hadn’t asked any questions about the murdered women, or why Cassie had been next. If Moniqua had gone running to him with Cassie’s name, we were none the wiser.

Except outside the door, with the music blaring and killing my eardrums, then muting as the bunker closed, Cassie and Shade shared a slick high five.

“Got him,” she said.

Chapter 23

Cassie

Shade directed us out of the bunker and through the warehouse. In the confines of his car, he spoke again. “Cassie, summarise.”

I rubbed my hands together. “He folded like a cheap chair when pressed on Red’s disrespect. That plus a little pain will have him thinking up every piece of information he can bargain with.”

Riordan’s eyebrows dove together. “You were priming him?”

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