Page 48 of Total Carnage
"Such a tragedy, that," Stansfield mused, feigning concern. But there was a flicker there, a moment where his façade cracked. I saw the fear, even if he thought he had it hidden.
"Start talking, or so help me, I'll—" I circled the desk like a predator, my every step calculated to rattle this silver-hairedsnake. Stansfield watched me, his smugness slipping as he tried to reclaim his composure with words dipped in poison.
"Vincent," he began, his voice slick as oil on water, "you have to understand, these events are bigger than you or I. Political forces at play—"
"Save it," I interrupted. "You think I give a damn about politics?"
He ignored me, plowing ahead with his charade. "Your little club was simply... collateral damage in a much larger scheme. The world is changing, Mr. Reed. And sometimes, people get caught in the crossfire."
"Is that what Raven was to you? Collateral damage?" I could feel the heat of my anger, a furnace burning in my chest, but I kept it chained, let it simmer just below the surface.
"Ah, Raven," he said, the name sliding off his tongue like it was laced with betrayal. "She never understood the bigger picture, always so shortsighted—just like her mother."
The mention of Raven's mother was a low blow, and it took everything I had not to leap over the desk and throttle him. Instead, I leaned in close, my voice low and dangerous. "You're wrong about her. About everything."
"Am I?" Stansfield shifted in his seat, the discomfort clear in how he avoided my gaze. "The bombing was unfortunate, sure. A necessary evil—"
"Unfortunate?" My laugh was more bark than humor. "Try explaining 'unfortunate' to the families of my brothers you wiped out. To the kids who won't see their dads again because of your 'necessary evil.'"
"Those men were criminals—" he started, but I cut him off with a snarl.
"Maybe to you. To me, they were family. You destroyed lives, homes, memories. All because you can't stand the sight of us riding free while you're chained to your goddamn desk."
"Vin, you're being—" He paused, gulping down whatever lie he'd been about to spin, as if he finally realized I wasn't buying any of it.
"Being what, Stansfield? Being real? You sit here in your palace, playing king, but out there..." I jabbed a finger toward the window, to the world beyond his gilded cage. "Out there is where life happens. Where real people bleed and fight and love. And you want to talk politics to me?"
Stansfield's eyes narrowed, sensing he was losing ground. "You're oversimplifying—"
"Shut up." I slammed my palms flat against the mahogany, making him flinch. "I'm done listening to your bullshit. Start talking sense, or I swear I'll tear this place apart brick by brick until the truth comes spilling out like blood from a wound."
There was a silence then, heavy and thick. Stansfield's breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw it—the realization that he was no longer holding the cards. He swallowed hard, and I knew I had him right where I wanted.
"Look at you," Stansfield sneered, leaning back in his chair like a king on his damned throne. "The mighty Vin Reed reduced to playing detective. You think you're so close to the truth?"
My hands itched to wipe that smug look off his face, but I kept 'em steady by my sides. "Start talking, Stansfield. Who else is in your pocket? Who helped you bomb my club?"
"Ah, alliances," he drawled, enjoying the sound of his own voice way too much. "Necessary for any venture with... substantial outcomes. Your little motorcycle club was an obstacle. A stain on the fabric of our society—"
"Cut the crap," I cut in, my patience thinner than the air in a punctured tire. "Who's we?"
"Let's just say I have friends in high—and low—places." His lips twisted into a smirk. "Friends who understand theimportance of order, of removing vermin from the streets. The Russian connections, they appreciate a good cleansing."
"Russians?" That piece clicked into place, ugly and jagged. "You're in bed with those Black Market Railroad bastards?"
"Business makes strange bedfellows," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.
I took a step closer, the leather of my jacket creaking like a warning. "You'll regret this, Stansfield. Every single drop of blood spilled is on your hands."
"Threats are beneath you, Vin." He tried to sound bored, but there was a hint of sweat on his brow now.
Just then, the door crashed open, and Raven stormed in, her dark hair a wild halo around her fierce face. Her eyes were two flares of determination, and she moved with the kind of purpose that made men twice her size take a step back.
"Raven!" Stansfield gasped, shock slicing through his cultivated calm.
"Hello, Father," she spat out the word like it was poison. "Miss me?"
Her entrance was like throwing gasoline on a fire, the air charged with something fierce and raw. She was pure, undiluted defiance in the flesh, and I felt the balance shift, tipping the scales in our favor.
