Page 73 of Ruthless

“What do you want, Ax?” Neither one of us are in the mood for his bullshit right now.

“Oh, nothing. Finn just called, but I can come back and get y’all later.”

“Fucking dickhead.” I race out of the house like my ass is on fire.

When the five of us make it to Finn’s, we find him sitting in his living room wearing another pin-striped suit with a cigar in between his fingers. Nothing out of the ordinary for him, but it’s who’s sitting next to him that has all the blood rushing to my head. Things are about to go from bad to worse.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rosenberg?”

Rosenberg stays seated, playing with an imaginary piece of lint, not answering right away.

“I asked you a question, counselor.” Asher puffs out his chest as Axel steps up next to him, ready to do damage control.

“I’m the one keeping your asses out of the fire while you cause a bloodbath.” Rosenberg cocks his blond head to the side.

“Bullshit.” Asher clenches his fists at his sides.

“Why do you think you haven’t been sent back to jail?” Those hazel eyes narrow at my brother.

Finn watches the two of them for a minute, assessing the situation, and when he’s satisfied, he decides to chime in with a drink in his other hand. Judging by the darkness of the liquid, I’d be willing to bet it’s Jameson. He’s a proud Irish fuck who won’t drink any other brand. He tilts his head to the side, watching me. And it grates on my last nerve.

“Why do ye think ye weren’t sent back to prison?”

“What?” Asher turns his angry stare onto Finn.

“I pulled a few strings after ye helped me niece.” Finn shrugs.

“Shit,” Axel drops what we’re all thinking. That’s something none of us saw coming, but some things are starting to make sense.

Rosenberg stands and eyes Asher the whole way out the door. My big brother doesn’t relax until he’s out the door and gone.

“Where’s yer head at, lad?” Finn redirects my attention to him and takes a quick sip of whiskey as he watches me out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I had to clean up two of yer messes in one night because ye let shit get out of hand. And now me feckin’ daughter and her friend are missin’.” He remains calm the entire time, and it’s almost worse than if he lost his shit. “I need to know just far yer willing to go. How dirty yer willin’ to get. And if ye can keep yer head above yer arse long enough to get the job done.”

“I’ll bathe in the fucker’s blood if I have to.” I don’t like being second-guessed. Not by him. Not by anyone. Especially when it comes to her. “All I need to know is that you’ll continue to clean up my messes.”

He leans back against the couch and pinches the cigar between his lips. “I have a present for ye.” He stands and buttons his suit jacket.

We follow him down into his basement and keep going until we come to a bookshelf. Finn hits a button, and the shelf slides, giving way to a doorway. Block walls over an inch thick surround the wooden stairs as we descend farther underground. It’s his very own playground, and nobody knows it exists.

The last time we were here, he disposed of Kelsey’s dad. When you’re a man like Finnegan Donnelly, it isn’t hard to make even the governor of Georgia disappear. Last I heard, his missing person’s case was still open, but nobody looked into it. That’s what happens when you’re a piece of shit.

Finn stops at a big metal door on the right and takes out a ring of keys. He flips through them until he finds the right one and slips it into the lock. It unlatches, and the door opens, revealing my present inside.

In the middle of the room is the man in the photograph. Directly underneath him is a decent size floor drain. There’s nothing else inside except for a rusty table with various tools of the trade on top.

His wrists are tied to the arms of the metal chair with zip ties, and his ankles are done up the same way against the legs of the chair. Blood drips down his face, and I narrow my eyes at Finn.

He shrugs it off. “Ye have ten minutes. He doesn’t talk, I send Rory in. I’m sure he’d like to take a crack at the fecker.” The door closes, leaving me, my brothers, and Isaac alone with the only one who holds the answers we need.

Asher and Isaac stay back, leaning against the wall by the door, watching. They both know exactly what is going through my head right now.

“Miguel Hernandez?” I use his name, letting him in on how fucked he is. We already know who he is and what he’s done.

His dark hair is covered in blood as he lifts his head to look up at me but remains silent. It seems like he’s gonna need some motivation.

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