“Yeah,” he sneers. “Nearly ripped your fucking head off.”
Snickering at Tarquin’s near-miss, I curl my lip up. “Wrong brother, asshole. You got off easy with him, me, not so much.”
“Fuck you,” he grunts.
I chuckle, dark and without humour, leaning heavily on the back of his neck and tightening my grip on the knife I’ve got in my belt. The blade catches the low light, casting sinister shadows over us both as I pull it out slowly. “That’s not nice,” I say, the edge of the steel cool against his throat. “Give me what I want, or I’ll decorate this dump with your insides.”
His eyes narrow, and he finally realises the shitstorm he’s walked into. With Eliza’s safety on the line, there’s nothing I won’t do. Nothing.
“What do you wanna know?”
My blade slides across the mercenary’s cheek, adding to the scars already etched into the rugged skin, making him grunt.
“You are keeping seriously idiotic company, Drago,” I say conversationally. “Grenville is a douche.”
“No shit,” he drawls.
“So you’re not loyal?”
“Only to those who pay. He pays.”
“And those who promise to gut you?”
“I’ll say it again, asshole. What do you wanna know?”
Time’s running out. He isn’t going to let me pin him for much longer. He is tensing up, getting ready to fight his way out of this, but he’s a pro. He’s thinking it through, marking his exits.
“What are his plans for Eliza Hughes?”
“He wants her gone, wants to claim the throne for himself.”
“Well, you don’t say. Details, cunt, details.”
“He’s got guys on the inside. Planning a hit.”
A hit.
The words are like ice in my veins.
“How?”
“Can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“You’re being very amenable.”
“Don’t got no loyalty to him. He’s a piss-ant.”
“Well, we can agree on that.”
“You’re protecting that little bitch? She stabbed me.”
“Yeah, I know and call her a bitch again, and I’ll make sure next time she kills you.”
He sneers. “I look forward to another go with her. She’s got balls.”
“Sounds like admiration.”
“Doesn’t matter what they’ve got between their legs, some people you gotta respect.”