Page 102 of Bad Blood
His eyes narrow as he holds up his hand for his men to stand down.
My amusement doesn’t last. As usual, his allergy to emotion is a buzzkill.
“Classless innuendoes,” he tuts. “How veryCarreraof you. You’re becoming annoyingly predictable, Santi. Which is why I came prepared to offer you an incentive.”
“Fuck off,” I reply, succinct as always.
“I’m not here for Thalia.”
I pause. “Why the incentive then?”
He gives me a chilly smile. “Hear me out before your snipers”—he gestures to the windows of the casino behind me—“decide to ruin my evening.”
“Spit it out, Grayson. I bore easily.”
His jaw flexes. I’m pushing him closer and closer to the edge. “You give me what I want, and I’ll give you something you’ve been looking for.” He nods to one of his men, who turns and opens the rear passenger’s side door of the sedan.
I’m not sure what I’m seeing at first, and then it hits me.
Bardi.
He’s slumped over in the backseat, with what’s left of his hands bound in front of him. I thought he looked like shit the last time I saw him, but shit is a step up from what’s staring back at me. His face is a goddamn color parade—at least the parts I recognize. Most of it is a canvas of bloody gashes and open flesh. He’s still struggling though, but it’s a waste of everyone’s time and energy. Unless he plans to log roll his way down the Atlantic City Expressway, he’s totally fucked.
I don’t care why he’s here.
I care abouthow.
“How the fuck do you know Bardi?” I demand, forcing down a visceral reaction to put a bullet in both of them. “You have no idea what he’s done to Thalia.Dios mío, to Ella!”
Her name is a cracked whip, and suddenly all the monsters here are dancing.
“Of course, we know what he did,” Grayson snarls. “Why the hell do you think I’m here? Cocktails are for pussies, and poker is a cunt’s game. We caught Bardi at Red Hook Terminal with a bag of napalm and a smile, attempting to blow up a shipment of ours all the way back toBarranquilla.” He tosses a disgusted look at him. “Goddamn idiot nearly blew his nuts off.”
What has this Italian idiota gotten himself involved in?
“You’re telling me he was trying to sabotage a Santiago import?”
A curt nod is his only affirmation I get. “Oursicariosbrought him back to the warehouse, and we had ourselves a messy conversation. I’d planned to remove a finger for every ten minutes he kept his mouth shut.” Something like a smirk threatens to tilt his lips. “Then I saw that you and I like to have the same fun.” He motions to Bardi’s three remaining fingers. “Turns out, he only needs two to sell you out.”
“Shit,” RJ mutters beside me.
“He was playing both sides.” Grayson’s lips tilt even more. He’s enjoying digging the knife in and giving it a good, hard twist. “But with a little motivation, we made him sing.”
“You drove all the way out to New Jersey to tell me this? Don’t you have technology back in the Big Apple?”
“I know about the tape, Carrera. And I know you have it.” His smirk disappears. “Give it to me now, and then we can all be home in time for milk and cookies.”
Now?
Bad move, Grayson.I don’t bow down to demanding fucks.
“Are you expecting me to be impressed by your intimidation act?” I say with an exaggerated sigh.
“I know exactly what’s on that footage,” he says, losing his cool. “If you think I’m going to leave an audition tape of Ella Santiago that was made for some mafia princess trafficking ring withyou, you’re wrong. I’ll fucking shoot it out of your hands, if I have to.”
My blood runs cold.
We suspected there was a ring, but we didn’t know all the fucked-up details.
