Page 104 of Nanny and the Beast

“Speak,” I say.

“It started as a temporary thing,” he says. “We were just looking for a way to make some extra cash. That’s when we met Lazlo. He’s the one you should be looking for, not us. I don’t have anything to do with the operation.”

“Explain why we saw your face in themotel’s camera footage.”

“I was just in charge of security,” he says. “At first, I didn’t know what was going on inside those rooms. And by the time I found out, it was already too late to back out.”

“Bullshit,” I say.

“Who’s Lazlo?” Alaric asks.

The kid swallows.

“He’s the one who’s in charge of the ring,” Kevin says. “If you want to find him, he hangs out at this strip club called Bottoms Up. He drinks there every night. He’s your guy, not me.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe your hands are clean?” I ask him.

“I swear I didn’t know what I was getting into,” he says.

“Of course,” I say. “You were just enabling them.”

Rage builds inside me, seeking release. I throw my knife on the ground. It clatters against the cold floor of the warehouse. Kevin breathes a sigh of relief, but his relief doesn’t last for long.

My fist lands on his cheekbone, breaking his jaw with the very first punch. I batter him with my fists, turning him into a mosaic of red and black and blue.

I unleash every ounce of rage inside me and direct it at him.

Power thrums through my veins. The blood on my hands feeds the monster inside me.

I don’t stop until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“That’s enough,” Alaric says. “You’re going to kill him if you keep going.”

“He deserves to die,” I pant.

“I agree, but he’s no use to us dead, Klaus,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

I ball my fists and storm away from the mostly unconscious criminal.

Alaric follows me.

“What’s going on?” Alaric asks. “You were supposed to scare him, not almost take his life.”

“Why do we need him alive, anyway?” I ask.

“Because he’s going to lead us straight to his boss,” Alaric says.

“We already know who his boss is,” I say.

“Do we?” Alaric cocks an eyebrow.

“The Lazlo guy?” I say.

“It never fails to amaze me how you’re so intelligent in some matters, yet completely clueless in other ways,” he says. “Did you really believe everything that punk told you?”

“You think he was lying?” I stop to consider that possibility for the first time.

“One hundred percent,” he says.

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