Page 54 of Thorns of Deceit
Today we got lucky and apprehended a culprit behind a missing shipment. A minion belonging to Duncan Lyons’s organization.
Missing products had become a normal occurrence since our war with the Lyonses began five years ago. Those bastards managed to intercept our routes no matter where we were in the world. It was beginning to put a drain on our profit.
I’d arrived at the dock owned by Enrico Marchetti in Le Havre to find the Scotsman strung up from the ceiling by his ankles, hanging five feet off the ground.
He was bleeding from multiple knife wounds, likely a result of Kingston Ashford’s torturing skills. Kingston, also known within the Omertà as the Ghost, was one of the best trackers out there. He had secured the man’s name and life story within the first five minutes of his capture. Nobody extracted information quite like him, except maybe for my brothers. The twins understood human anatomy better than a surgeon and knew precisely where to cut so the victim bled out, slowly and painfully, leaving enough time to retrieve what was needed.
“I should have known there’d be some butchering going on with the three of you together,” I muttered, flicking a curious look at Kingston.
He leaned against the concrete column, wearing jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him while my brothers boasted red-stained shirts. They enjoyed blood way too fucking much, despite Kyran sometimes using the lame excuse of blood making him queasy. Whenever he said that, it basically meant he didn’t want to get dirty.
“He kept blabbing in Scottish Gaelic,” Tyran said coolly. “It’s impossible to understand.”
“Annoying too,” Kyran added.
“It’s better than Russian,” Kingston drawled. “Russian makes me batshit crazy.”
“Dude, you’re already batshit crazy,” Tyran grumbled. “Russian has nothing to do with it.”
I stood expressionless with my hands in my pockets as I studied the scene. I rarely did the torturing myself anymore. Only when there was a point to be made.
“Then you haven’t seen me batshit crazy yet,” Kingston deadpanned.
“From where I stand, all three of you are goddamn insane,” I muttered as I stepped through the pool of blood. I stopped before the hanging Scotsman’s unconscious form.
This was what happened to anyone who fucked with our shipments, and more often than not, it was one of Lyons’s men. It never stopped them from coming back, though. Apparently, Duncan Lyons had plenty of people to spare, or he simply didn’t care about their lives.
My hand smashed against the Scotsman’s skull, hitting him so hard his head jerked back as a painful yelp tore from his lips.
“Oh, my apologies, did I wake you from a pleasant sleep?”
The man’s pupils dilated with terror as his bloodshot eyes darted to me, then over my shoulder to where Kingston and my brothers stood casually.
A sinister smile curved around my lips as I turned to them. “How long has he been hanging upside down? I’ll be pissed off if he dies on us too soon.”
Tyran shrugged. “A minute or two.”
“Or maybe an hour,” Kyran muttered.
“Long enough,” Kingston chimed in. Clearly, none of them cared if he died in the next minute or not.
I turned to the man and asked, “Are you ready to talk?”
“I don’t know anything,” he whimpered.
“We’ll start easy, then,” I drawled. “Who gave the order to seize my shipment?”
I knew the answer, but I wanted confirmation. In our line of work, assumptions got you killed.
“Duncan… Lyons.”
“Good, you graduated. Now, where is my shipment?”
“I… don’t… know.”
I gripped his hair, making sure to pull it taut against his scalp. “Where the fuck is my product? I know it couldn’t have made it to Duncan yet.”
He coughed up some blood, then cried out, “I don’t know.”
