Page 130 of Bonds of Obsession

“Please,” Emmett whimpers as Killian maintains the pressure. “That’s everything. I swear.”

I step back, letting his words hang in the air. I can’t tell whether he’s holding back or not. But I’d be willing to bet that even now, he’s probably trying like hell to figure out how to save his own ass.

“Where is Ambrose hiding?” I demand, watching Emmett’s face for any sign of deception.

His eyes dart between the four of us. “I-I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.” Killian grabs Emmett’s hand and bends back his index finger until the joint creaks. A sharp crack echoes through the room, followed by Emmett’s howl of pain.

“Jesus fuck!” Sweat pours down Emmett’s face as he thrashes against the restraints. “I swear I don’t know! He never—ahh!”

Another snap as Killian works on the middle finger.

“We only met in random places!” Emmett’s words tumble out between sobs. “It was a different location every time. He’d text me an address an hour before?—”

“You expect us to believe that?” Atlas moves closer, his presence making Emmett shrink farther into the chair.

“It’s true! He never trusted me enough—fuck, please!” His eyes are wild with genuine terror as Killian reaches for his ring finger. “He knew I was Quinn’s lieutenant. He kept everything compartmentalized. He has different crews in different locations—he never let anyone know where his base was!”

He’s gasping for breath by the time he finishes speaking, his mouth hanging open. His entire body trembles, and his forehead is shiny with sweat.

“He’s telling the truth,” Nico says quietly, studying Emmett’s face. “He doesn’t know.”

I nod slowly, recognizing the genuine terror in Emmett’s expression. He’s too much of a coward to hold anything back while Killian is breaking his fingers one by one.

“Fine.” I step closer to Emmett’s chair. “Then tell us everything you do know about his operation. I want to know every meeting spot, every face you saw, every scrap of information he let slip. And if you leave anything out…” I gesture to his mangled hand. “Well, you’ve still got eight more fingers to go through.”

“And ten toes,” Killian adds with a predatory smile.

Emmett’s words spill out between gasps and sobs as Killian works. The locations he gives us are useless—random streetcorners, abandoned buildings, parking lots. Nothing ties back to Ambrose’s actual base of operations.

“The old warehouse on Fourth—that’s where I met his lieutenant last week.” Blood drips from Emmett’s split lip. “He’s a big guy, with a face like he got hit by a truck.”

“Marcus,” Atlas nods. “One of his enforcers. The son of a bitch worked me over pretty good when Ambrose had me locked up.”

Killian applies pressure to another pressure point and Emmett screams. But his story doesn’t change—he just gives us more disposable meeting spots and faces we already know about.

“He never—fuck!—never let anyone see where he actually operated from. He always had a different burner phone every time. A different car and a different crew picking me up.”

The raw desperation in his voice hits something in my gut. I’ve seen Emmett lie plenty of times before, but this isn’t it. This is pure animal terror, the kind that strips away all pretense.

“Ambrose always was a paranoid fuck,” Atlas mutters. “Even back when we worked with him. He never let anyone know his full operation. Hell, we didn’t even know his fucking name.”

I watch as Killian works Emmett over with clinical precision. But no matter what he does, the story stays consistent. Just more dead-end locations and mid-level thugs we already know about.

“He’s not lying.” Killian steps back, wiping his blade clean. “He doesn’t know shit about Ambrose’s actual operation.”

“We’re wasting our fucking time on this fucker,” Nico spits.

He’s right. We’ve squeezed everything useful out of Emmett, and it amounts to nothing. Just confirmation that Ambrose is as careful and paranoid as ever. This lead is ice cold.

I pace in front of Emmett’s chair, my fingers curling into fists. All that work, all that planning to catch this rat, and we gotnothing useful out of him. The urge to slam my knuckles into his face burns through my arms. At least the pain would make me feel better about wasting my time on this worthless asshole.

“Fuck!” I slam my hand against the wall, the impact sending sharp sparks through my fingers.

But the burst of pain clears my head. My eyes snap back to Emmett’s trembling form, and something clicks into place as a dangerous idea unfolds in my mind.

If we can’t find Ambrose’s base? Fine. We’ll make him come to us.

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