Page 121 of The Grief We Hold

Again.

“Let’s get him outside. Fen doesn’t need to hear any of this.”

I grab his leg and drag him down the stairs by his ankle. His limbs flail. He tries to grab hold of the stair rail, to fight me. But nothing is going to prevent the back of his head from smacking on every wooden step.

“What the… please…let me…ahh.”

His words come out punctuated by groans and moans.

Atom laughs. “Look at the fucker bounce.”

“Those hips don’t lie,” Catfish sings.

Marco’s phone falls out of his pocket, and Atom stamps on it, smashing the screen.

I can’t help but grin. We manage to get him out the door without being seen and drag him into the alley behind the store.

Unused cardboard is stacked up next to the dumpster. Tenacious weeds grow up through cracks in the concrete. Best of all? It’s deserted.

There is a small stack of wooden pallets, and I shove him down to sit on them.

“He’s gonna shit himself,” Grudge says.

Butcher chuckles. “We talking about Wraith or the fucker on the pallets?”

I glare at my president for a second before returning to Marco.

“You want to tell me why you’re here when I told you explicitly to leave her alone?”

His eye is already puffy, red, and streaming. “She’s my fucking wife.”

Just hearing those words from his lips set my teeth on edge. I hate that she was with him first. I hate more that he left her with battered self-worth.

“Every time you forget to say ‘ex’ in front of ‘wife,’ I’m gonna pull a fingernail from your hand with pliers. She’s yourex-fucking-wife.” I look at Atom. “Hold his hand down?”

“Just let me go,” Marco says as he tries to fight Atom’s hold, but no one can get out of Atom’s solid grip. “I need to get out of here.”

Butcher climbs behind him on the pallet, putting his skull in a headlock. Marco’s face goes red as he still persists.

“Who, specifically, did you con?” I ask as he fights and contorts his body, but he stands no chance.

“Fuck you,” he spits.

“No thanks, I’d rather fuck your ex-wife. Who did you con?”

He snarls at me, and I tip my head to Atom. “Keep his hand down.” I pull the pliers from my cut and grip his thumbnail.

Marco tries to fight, but I rip it out, and he lets out a guttural scream.

I toss the fingernail into the dumpster. “You got nineteen more nails, and I have all fucking day. So, I’m gonna ask again. Who showed up at your house looking for you, after you ran and left your wife and kid home alone to face them?”

“I didn’t know they’d do that,” he says, a bubble of snot escaping his nose.

Butcher snatches his arm from around his throat. “Jesus. Got his fucking boogers on me.” He pulls his knife from its sheath and puts the tip right up against Marco’s neck. “Move around now, fucker. I dare you.”

Marco stills. The knife tip scratches his neck enough to make it bleed.

“Now that we’ve got your attention, talk,” I say.

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