Page 96 of Torched Spades
“Going somewhere?”
I’ll give the bastard his due—it takes balls to lunge for a gun over two feet away when someone is holding a loaded one to the back of your skull.
Balls belonging to a man who knows he has a layer of legal protection…
That’s why instead of putting a bullet in his head, I slam the butt of my Glock against it before tossing him in the trunk.
* * *
After waiting for over an hour, my patience has run its course.
Kicking the side door closed, I cart the metal bowl down the steps into my garage, shaking my head when I see the weak piece of shit still slumped over.
Impressive, considering I got a little overzealous with the duct tape.
Raymond Thomas Connor sits tied to a metal chair like a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey. Each ankle is triple wrapped around the front two legs of it while his wrists are bound behind it thanks to seven unlucky layers.
I could’ve stopped there, but where’s the fun in that?
So once secured in the chair, I burrito wrapped the fucker from waist to chest. Thepièce de résistancewas the tape I slapped over his mouth and the two smaller ones I used to keep his eyes open.
A lot of good that did. The idiot has been out cold since I brought him in here.
I smile.Not for long.
“Time to wake up, Ray…” Moving in behind him, I lift the bucket over his head and dump at least two gallons of ice water over it.
He springs to life and jerks on his restraints, those blank eyes I’ve been staring at for-fucking-ever finally seeing my face as I drop the bucket and circle in front of him.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” I tell him while ripping the tape from his mouth. “That’s strike one.”
“W-Who are you?” he sputters, water and blood dripping off him onto the tarp under his feet.
I shrug. “That depends on who you ask. However, for now, you can call me Torch.”
Ray’s bloodshot eyes widen. “Oh, fuck.”
I smile. “I get that a lot.” Just to be a dick, I make another slow circle around him, tapping the blunt end of the blade I’m holding against my palm until I’m facing him again. “Now, I believe you have some things you want to tell me, don’t you, Ray?”
“How do you know my name?”
Curling my lip in disgust, I draw his wallet from my back pocket and give it a shake before tossing it at his feet. “Criminal 101, never bring identification to a job. Now, about what you were going to tell me.”
“Look, you got the wrong guy. I didn’t do anything.”
“Ray, let me give you a little heads-up about something. I operate by two simple rules: don’t lie to me, and don’t touch what’s mine. You broke both.”
“I didn’t even know the bitch!” he screeches, and my vision goes black. Gritting my teeth, I sink the blade hard and deep into his left thigh. His screams are just the accompaniment I wanted as I give the handle a good twist before jerking it out of his flesh. “Don’t ever disrespect her like that again. Her name is Becca. Use it or this will be over very fucking quickly.”
“Okay, okay,” he wails. “What do you want to know?”
“Why were you inside her house?”
“Someone paid me to scare the bit…” Catching himself, he blubbers out another pathetic cry as I even out his wounds. “B-Becca! Someone paid me to scare Becca.”
“Why?” Pulling the blade from his right thigh, I watch in satisfaction as blood spurts from the wound.
“I don’t know.” Moving the tip of the knife to his shoulder, I take a firm grip on the handle when he screams again. “I swear, I don’t know why. He didn’t tell me.”
