Page 73 of A Heart So Savage

“I’m fine,” Kingston replied, a faint scowl twisting his lips. “Let’s get this shit done so I can get back to Ava.”

He’d already received notification Ava was safely secured within the tower-like penthouse, verified by the security camera system installed in the vestibule. As instructed, she keyed in the code to lock the doors and now waited for his return. Knowing she was currently guarded by one of his most trusted teams made breathing a little easier but not by much. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he was physically with her.

Entering the cold and damp warehouse, Kingston saw four of his men standing around a single figure seated in a folding metal chair. The man was bound at his hands and feet with lengths of thick rope, a dirty gag clenched between his teeth.

He might have been homeless. He may have even been mentally ill. But one thing was certain. The guy was terrified. Or maybe he was just tweaking. Every now and then, he tried jerking his hands free, noisily rattling the chair legs on the concrete floor. In his late twenties with shaggy brown hair, dirty jeans, his face was marked with sores commonly seen with meth addiction. Eyes wide above the gag, he stared at Kingston’s men as they laughed and casually made jokes while ignoring their prisoner.

Franco and his crew grew silent as Kingston approached. His shoes clicked ominously on a concrete floor stained with so many different things it was hard to tell their origins.

“Has he talked?”

Franco stepped behind the man, resting large hands on the prisoner’s shoulders and squeezing them hard. A grin creased his swarthy face. “Before we gagged him? Yes. Diarrhea of the mouth.”

“Anything useful?” Kingston snapped his fingers, and Jack immediately handed him a fresh cigarette and his own personal lighter. It was a habit he’d given up only recently, and here he’d already smoked two in less than an hour.

“Debatable.” Franco shrugged. “Says his name is Hopkins.”

Kingston grabbed another chair, dragging it over to their hostage. Turning it around backward, he straddled the seat and rested his forearms on the chair’s back. “I’m going to ask you some questions now, Hopkins. And each time you give me the wrong answer, my associate here will yank out one of your fingernails. If we make it through all ten, we’ll move on to cutting off extremities.” His voice lowered into a husky threat of violence. “I imagine those will be things you’re probably very fond of. Fingers. Toes. Ears.” He leaned forward, holding the man’s gaze. “Your balls.”

The man’s eyes widened with fear. He jerked against the restraints with greater ferocity, a muffled exclamation of panic bubbling from behind the gag.

“First question. Are you the one who placed this note on the window of my limo in the alleyway behind La Maison?” Kingston uncrumpled the yellow sticky note and held it up.

Hopkins stubbornly shook his head.

Kingston made atskingnoise. “Wrong answer. I saw you on the video surveillance. Same hoodie. Same hat. Same pants.” He made a circular motion around his face with an index finger. “Same unfortunate, douchebag chin strap beard.” Keeping his gaze steady on the man, Kingston addressed Franco. “Franco… you may begin.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Franco pulled a pair of pliers from his back pocket and without preamble, knelt behind Hopkins. A quick jerk and a thumbnail was yanked free. It was dropped into the man’s lap.

A wail of muffled pain came from behind the gag.

“Want to amend your answer?” Kingston asked calmly.

When Hopkins did not respond, Kingston nodded at Franco. Another scream and a second fingernail landed beside the first.

“Let’s try again, shall we?” Kingston asked as the prisoner’s head slumped forward. A slight nod indicated Hopkins’ willingness to cooperate.

A wave of Kingston’s hand silently indicated that Franco could remove the man’s gag.

“Did you fire a weapon at us?” Kingston asked in a soft, deadly voice.

“Fuck you guys,” was the weak answer.

“Jog our friend’s memory.” Kingston leaned back as Franco stepped in front of their prisoner. His fist slammed into Hopkins’ jaw so hard it nearly sent the metal chair toppling over.

Hopkins groaned loudly, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Most of it dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt.

“That wasn’t me.” Hopkins spit more blood out. “I just left the note, man. That’s all, swear to God. You gotta believe me. I’ve never shot a gun at anyone before.”

Kingston’s head tilted, measuring the man’s response. There was a ring of truth in his desperate denial, but there was no denying most people would say anything under circumstances like these.

“Who took the shot, scumbag?” Jack snarled.

“I don’t know! All I know is it wasn’t me, man. It wasn’t me!” Hopkins shrieked when Franco grinned, holding up the bloody pliers and clacking the tool. “Please… please don’t. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know anything about it.”

Kingston held up a hand, indicating Franco should await further instructions. “What happened to the other guy? How did he get away?”

“The Mercedes. That asshole was supposed to wait for me, but he took off before I could jump into the car. I don’t know where he was headed, but the plan was to let me out on a corner over Broadway. I don’t know the guy… just the car and the pickup spot.”

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