Page 167 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Told you.”

“Now,” I breathe, allowing Dave just enough room to breathe that he’s not going to die before I get what I want. “When I remove my hand, you’re going to tell me everything you know about the video on this flashdrive. You aren’t going to scream.If you do, I’m going to hang you from the rafters by the balls. Understand?”

Dave has the good sense to nod. At least as much as he can.

“Good.”

I release my hand, and Dave sucks in a breath, his shoulders shaking with blubbering sobs.

“Please,” he begs. “I have a wife. Kids.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “I saw what you did to your son. Real fucked up. How do you think he’d feel about this?”

“You don’t understand,” Dave cries. “It was one time. It was a mistake.”

“How do you think the women in your videos feels about that? Do you think she feels it was a mistake?

I’m actually lying. I couldn’t watch the video all the way through. Made me fucking sick, knowing he’d done that to another person.

“You had this video in your possession. How did you get it?” I ask, my voice calm despite how irritated I’m getting. “I don’t have all night.” I shrug. “Neither do you.”

“I don’t know . . .” Dave urges when I move to slip the collar around his neck. I wait for him to elaborate because I’ve heard all this shit before.

You don’t deal with assholes like Dave for years in the FBI and not get fed the same bullshit line a few times.

“I just sell the product. I don’t know how it’s made. I can give you the names of everyone who bought one. It’s all back at my office,” he rushes like I don’t already have all that information. Unfortunately, Dave’s customer base is getting a whole lot smaller as we speak. “You seem like a reasonable guy. You wouldn’t want sick freaks like that walking the streets, would you?”

Fucking idiot.

“You know what, Dave, you’re right.” I step back, nodding to Levi like Dave here, really changed my mind about all the ways I’m going to torture him for the things I found when we searched his office on the upper side. “Iama reasonable guy.”

“Right,” Dave breathes, a ghost of a relieved smile on his lips.

“Which is why I’m going to give you one more opportunity to tell me the truth.”

Dave’s cheerful relief breaks and he’s back to sobbing. It’s getting old, honestly.

“Who thefuckgave you this video?” I ask, leaning forward until I’m right in his face and holding up the flash drive that contains Dave’s little film. “Final Jeopardy, Dave.”

But . . . he doesn’t answer. He either really doesn’t know, or he’s dumb enough to try and protect the people he was working for.

“I had hope for you, Dave,” Levi says with disappointment.

See. Sometimes, he’s funny.

“Wait!” Dave screeches when I reach for the knife instead.

“Dave, if you’re not going to talk, I have no use for you. I’m not running a bed and breakfast.”

“I’ll talk!” he squeals like a little mouse caught in a trap. “Franco March.”

“Now, who the fuck is that?” Levi asks, his eyes flashing to mine. Usually, in these types of circles, we hear the same names over and over again. Franco March is surprisingly not one of them.

“He’s the middleman. He’s who paid me.”

“And where did you meet this Franco March?”

“Down by the docks. An old, abandoned carwash off Pine Street. He said he got it from a woman, but I he wouldn’t tell me who.”

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