Page 81 of Prodigal Son

A big pantry, but the edges closed in thanks to the presence of the Dogs. A huge guy Axelle had heard referred to as Shallie. Phillip. That guy Nicky who’d helped interrogate the sniper kid, who looked like he had a rap sheet as long as her arm. A few of the younger ones, hips cocked, and shoulders jacked up, trying to look bigger than they were. But they all stood back, even the president.

It was Albie who walked into the room and spawned a hush. All murmured side conversation quieted.

He wore a white t-shirt and dress slacks tucked, absurdly, into above-the-ankle harness boots. His flak vest. By all rights he should have looked ridiculous. Laughable, even.

But that wasn’t the case at all. Everyone in the small room seemed to lean forward – even Axelle, much to her chagrin. Clive picked up his head, eyes widening, but Axelle wasn’t looking at him. No, her gaze was trained on the tightly bunched muscles in Albie’s arms, in his back, visible as his shirt shifted over his skin. He would have hated the comparison, probably, but there was an air of a detective about him, competent, quietly furious, but totally in control.

It was strikingly attractive.

“Alright.” Albie grabbed a spare chair and dragged it over, set it down in front of Clive’s, backward, with a loud clunk. He straddled its seat, and as he dropped down into it, he leaned over the back and snatched the tape off Clive’s mouth with a deft flick of his wrist.

Sharp ripping sound as it let go of skin, and Clive gave a low shout.

“Shut up,” Albie said. He tossed the tape away and fixed Clive with a look that, even from a distance, and even without being on the receiving end of it, Axelle felt like nails raking down the back of her neck. A predatory look. “I’m going to ask you questions about who you are, what you’re doing involved with Pseudonym, and what happened to my little sister. Every time you hesitate, Nicky’s going to spur you on.”

The big man cracked his knuckles.

“If you lie, I’ll break your fingers. One finger for each lie.” He said it matter-of-fact, like he was rattling off the weather report, and somehow that made it worse than any posturing or snarling.

It seemed effective, too, judging by the way Clive’s throat jumped as he swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, just a breath. “Okay. But–” Albie arched a single brow and the man flinched, but pressed on. “They threatened me. Said they’d kill me.”

Albie tipped his head, and his gaze went from assessing…to downright canine. That black dog patch they all wore wasn’t a joke, she was coming to realize. “So will we.”

“They know where my mum lives. My sister. Her children.”

“Imagine that: we both have a sister in danger. Only, mine’s sixteen, and she’s already been snatched. So.” He tipped his head.

Nicky stepped forward and punched Clive in the jaw.

His head snapped around, and he let out a deep, shocked sound that turned into a strangled yell.

“I – I,” he gasped. “I didn’t–”

“Shut up,” Albie said again, firmer, and Clive shut up. He slowly turned back to face his interrogator, working his jaw side to side with a wince. “Now, we’ll start simple, and work our way up to the harder questions. Yeah?”

Clive wet his lips. A fine tremor took him, across his whole body. “Yeah.”

“Is Clive Mahoney your real name?”

“Yes.”

“Are you really the CEO of Gleaux?”

“Yes.”

“When did you get the job?”

“Three years ago. I’d worked as a manager for a small financial firm before that.”

“Small? That’s a big step up.”

He shrugged as best he could with his hands bound behind his back. “I was qualified. I went for three different interviews.”

“Why’d you want the job?”

“The money.”

“Big man salary? Or under the table money?”

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