Page 57 of Embracing the Consequences

Carmichael was still as stoic as he’d been on the plane. A resigned sort of calm had settled over him. Johnny eyed the man warily. It wasn’t what he’d expected from him.

At sixty-five, Vince Carmichael’s blond hair had taken on a white blond sheen that was more gray than blond. His blue eyes had crinkled in the corners. He would have been attractive enough, if he weren’t a spineless weasel.

The utter lack of fight from the man grated on Johnny’s nerves. As if feeling Johnny’s stare, Vince looked up and met his gaze. “You’re an utter piece of shit,” Johnny told him. “Do you even care that your daughter has been kidnapped? Do you even care what happens to her?”

“That moneygrubbing whore should have stayed in the ghetto where she came from,” Laraway spat out. His body swayed slightly from the force of the words he spewed.

“That right?” Derrick drawled, circling around the hanging men so they could see him leering at them. “You feel the same, daddy dearest?”

Vince stayed quiet.

Johnny sneered. “You know, your daughter asked us to spare your life,” Johnny told him, moving out of the shadows.

Vince’s gaze finally met his.

“Still got nothing to say, Carmichael? Cat got your tongue?” Derrick taunted.

Kevin walked over too. “Why should he care? He hired someone to attack his own daughter.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” Vince finally spoke up.

“I don’t believe you,” Johnny shot back immediately.

Vince glared at him. “I may have told her to stop whoring herself out to the three of you, but I never had anyone attack her.”

Ken laughed.

Johnny turned his head to look at the hanging rat. He crossed his arms over his chest. Laraway was the talker of the two; Johnny could wait for the man to spill his guts, or they’d make him. Either way, it wasn’t any skin off his back.

“Where is she?” Devil asked Laraway, moving closer.

“You’ll never find her,” Laraway repeated.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Strip him.”

Devil pulled a knife from his belt and made quick work of slicing the ragged clothes from Laraway’s paunchy body. Laraway thrashed against his bonds as Devil cut away his old button-up shirt and dress pants, leaving the man hanging in nothing but his briefs, his heavy belly hanging over his tighty-whities. It was a horrible image and would be burned into Johnny’s skull for the rest of his days.

“He’s been working with the snakes,” Vince said.

“So have you, Carmichael. Don’t put this all on him.” Rockstar growled.

“I was working with Larry Buckley. I never spoke to the snakes or did business with them,” Carmichael clarified.

“Because you pussied out in the end,” Laraway snapped.

Vince rolled his eyes and turned away from the other man as much as he could while hanging from the ceiling.

“Devil, begin,” Johnny ordered and leaned back against the wall.

“The snakes have a warehouse off of Route 9, out past old Sheppard’s Mill,” Vince said, eyeing Derrick warily.

Devil slid his Buck knife back into the sheath on his belt and walked over to a table against the wall, picking up a knife with an eight-inch blade. “One of you needs to start talking. Otherwise you’re going to start losing limbs,” Derrick drawled and started cleaning his fingernails with the tip of the blade.

Johnny would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatics if he weren’t just as anxious to get this show on the road.

Devil leaned in and pressed the tip of the blade to Laraway’s chest. The man screamed instantly, and Devil didn’t let up. He slowly dragged the knife down Laraway’s torso. When hethrashed too much for Devil to keep the cut straight, Rockstar moved in behind Laraway and held him steady.

Carmichael closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away.

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